


Kick Off Your Sunday Shoes

by leiascully



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bath Sex, Bubble Bath, Car Sex, Dancing, F/M, First Time, Food, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation, Naked All Day, Reunion Sex, Safer Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha thought it was a shame that Steve had never been dancing (among other things).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-movie  
> A/N: Because it was too cute not to write. Title is from that song from _Footloose_. More-than-kissing later on.  
>  Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The twenty-first century was a very confusing place. Steve wasn't always good at the 1940s, at least not before Doctor Erskine showed up and made him a big man in a world that respected muscle more than heart. But he was better at then than he is at now, and that's a fact.

"Captain Rogers," Natasha said, catching up to him. There's one thing he's still no good at: talking to dames. No matter how many times she told him to call her "Natasha", it was tough to not think of her as "Miss Romanov". It honestly wasn't much easier calling the others "Tony" and "Clint". At least Director Fury and Banner didn't demand they be on first name basis.

Steve knew he was old-fashioned - he was a little old-fashioned even in his own time, but everything about the twenty-first century seemed off and strange and much too quick and casual. 

Natasha was still standing there expectently. He shook himself out of his reverie. "Call me Steve. I mean, you won't let me call you by your last name."

"I wasn't sure you'd answer to it, lost in thought like that," she said. "How are you adjusting?"

He shrugged. "At least war's the same."

"I'm sure there are a few other things that haven't changed." She smiled up at him. 

"Cell phones," he said. "Computers. Cars with the internet in them. Supermarkets. Men and women both wearing pants so tight you can hardly breathe looking at them. 3-D movies. Color televisions. And that's just the _stuff_ , that's not even the people."

"People are always the same," Natasha said. 

"The things they do aren't," Steve told her.

"Please," she said, her mouth curved up in amusement. "The more they change, the more they stay the same."

"I was asleep for a long time," he reminded her. "Everybody was so certain about everything before. People had jobs to do and they did them all their lives. Now there's women's liberation. Men marrying men and women marrying women. A black President. Not that that's bad - it's all good in my book, so long as people are happy. It's just different. It's all different." He thought about it for a moment. "Last time I looked, we were fighting to keep everybody from speaking German. Now half the country speaks Spanish and I was asleep the whole time. It's different. I like it. But it's not home. I feel like I'm not from this America. But I guess you're not either."

"Not exactly," she said.

"You know, once upon a time you and I might have been enemies," he said.

"More recently than you'd think," she teased him. He got the feeling it wasn't much of a joke. "But we're allies now, aren't we?"

"I sure hope so," he told her.

"Have you had the grand tour yet?" she asked.

"Of the city?" he asked. She nodded. "I don't think there's been time. It's, uh, a big city. Even bigger than it used to be."

"You should see some of it," she told him.

"The parts we didn't destroy last week," he muttered. 

She shrugged. "They'll rebuild it. It's job creation. We're helping the economy."

"You're a quick one, aren't you?" he asked.

She smiled at him again. "Got to be. Otherwise I wouldn't be around anymore."

She reminded him of Peggy, a little. She had that same kind of spunk. He doubted she'd hesitate to punch anyone who gave her any trouble square in the jaw. Come to think of it, he doubted she'd hesitated any of the times she'd socked anyone in the jaw. She was right: theirs was a profession where only the swift survived. 

He missed Peggy. He ached at night, thinking about her. Thinking about Bucky too, but that was a slightly different ache. He and Bucky had a little less unfinished business, for one. He'd been too afraid to ask if Peggy had passed on. He wanted badly to know, of course, but he wanted even worse not to know, just in case. 

He was sure someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been able to find out, but he couldn't let go of that last hope, that someone he had loved was still around in the world. She was the last part of his old life that he clung to, and if things had been different, if she had been the near-immortal supersoldier, he wasn't sure he would have wanted her to see him so much older, so much different. If she was still alive, he wasn't sure she'd want to see him for all kinds of reasons, least of all that he never made their date.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing," he reassured her. "Memories. Probably water under the bridge by now. Probably the bridge fell down and they've built a new one."

She put her hand on his arm. She was gentle about it, but it reminded him how deadly she was with her body. "I know I don't really understand, but I understand a little." He recognized the look in her eyes: someone who'd loved and lost and woken up in a life she hadn't looked for. He saw that look in the mirror every morning.

"I'm sure you do," he said. 

"Come on," she said. "I'll show you around the last seventy years."

"Thank you," he said. "I know you have better things to do with your time."

"Than reintroduce Captain America to this brand new shiny America?" she asked. "There's nothing I like better than playing matchmaker between a hero and his hometown."

"I'm sure it'll be love at first sight," he joked. "I trust you."

"Maybe you shouldn't," she said, tipping her head to one side and gazing at him through her lashes. "But I appreciate it."

He sized her up. She crossed her arms, looking smug. "It would be a fair fight," he told her. 

"There's no such thing," she said. She smiled at him. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he said. He offered her his arm and after a moment, she took it. 

"You really are unbelievable," she murmured.

"Thank you," he said. 

\+ + + +

The subway was mostly the same, at least. Natasha took him to so many places he couldn't even remember them all. He'd known some of Manhattan before, but it wasn't his home turf, and even the places that were slightly familiar looked so different that he couldn't put them on his mental map. The city was louder and it was bigger and it was brighter and it was almost too much. It was a relief to end up in Central Park, where some things hadn't changed at all.

"Thank you for this," he told her as they sat on a bench eating hot dogs.

"You're welcome," she said, dabbing mustard from the corner of her mouth. "I love this city. I owed you one, anyway."

"For what?" he asked. 

"Saving my life." She gazed at him steadily. "And the lift. It's not every day someone tries to protect me. Usually they're trying to protect themselves first."

"You weren't in any trouble you couldn't get out of," he said. "The shield thing - it's just a reflex. It wasn't because you couldn't take care of yourself."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I appreciated it." She smiled. "You can't help the man you are."

"Too bad," he said, tossing his wrapper in a nearby trash can and propping his elbows on his knees.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder. "Steve. You're a _good_ guy. There aren't that many of those in any decade. You should feel good about yourself."

"Thanks for trying to cheer me up," he said, standing up. 

"Well, clearly it hasn't worked yet," she told him, getting up as well. "I can't take you to a baseball game today, but we can do something else. What did you like to do back then? Drinks? Dinner? Dancing?"

"I've never been dancing," he mumbled.

"What?" she asked, her face skeptical. "I thought that was all there was to do besides go to war and, I don't know, plant a victory garden."

"Everybody else went dancing," Steve said, looking up at the sky. "Me, I never had the right partner at the right time."

"Then we're going," Natasha said. 

"What?" Steve said, startled. "No."

"It'll be fun," she insisted. "It doesn't have to be modern music. I think I know a place where they play stuff you'd like."

"I like everything," Steve told her. "I just...I don't dance. I missed my chance."

"Steve." She leaned toward him. "I don't know if you noticed, but your whole life is a second chance. And trust me - I know. When chances like that come around, you should take them."

"I don't know," he said slowly. 

"Whoever you wanted to go dancing with," Natasha said. "Whoever you had plans with, before everything went pear-shaped. I'm sure that person would want you to go on with your life." 

Steve took a deep breath. "She probably would. No. I know she would. She'd be scolding the hell out of me by now." He could almost hear Peggy in his head. _Come on, Captain, there's no use crying over spilt milk._

Natasha tugged gently at his arm. "So go dancing with me. Not now - this weekend. Saturday."

"Okay," he said. 

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he told her. "We'll stick to the kind with actual steps for now, though. I really doubt I'd be any good at bumping and grinding."

"We'll work up to it," Natasha promised, tossing her hair.

"Slowly," Steve warned.

"Maybe," she teased, her smile crooked but lovely. "I don't take things slow."

"What have I gotten myself into," he muttered loud enough for her to hear.

"Trouble," she said lightly. 

"The good kind?" he asked.

"Only the best," she said.

\+ + + + 

He spent a lot of time getting ready on Saturday. More time than he'd maybe ever spent getting ready before, but then again, he'd missed his one and only date with Peggy, so there was no way to say how long that might have taken. He propped her picture on the edge of the sink so that he could look at it while he shaved.

"I'm doing the right thing, right?" he asked her. She didn't answer, of course, but it made him feel a little better just to look at her and imagine what she'd say. The image of her face was a little worse for the wear for being in the ice so long, but at least she'd been with him all that time. He picked up the compass to look at her more closely, and then closed his eyes. "God, Peggy, I miss you."

He imagined her sighing in fond exasperation. _Just because we never had the chance to make a life together doesn't mean I want you to miss out on having one at all_ , she said in his mind.

"I wanted it to be with you," he said.

 _I know_ , she reassured him. _Sometimes things don't work out the way we plan. But we're soldiers, you and I. We don't wallow. We regroup and move on_.

And that was the heart of it, he thought. He was sure that no matter how she'd felt about him then, she'd picked up her life and moved on, eventually. She wasn't the type to pine away. He loved that about her. It might have been one long nap away for him, but whatever they'd had was seventy years in her past. He wouldn't have wanted her to wait. He would have wanted her to live her life unburdened.

"All right," he said to his reflection. "Let's go."

Natasha had texted him the address. He still wasn't used to the phone they'd given him, but he admitted, it was a lot handier than Howard Stark's little radio. At least the address was easy to get to. He took the subway and then walked a few blocks, enjoying the evening air. He could hear the strains of big band music from a few buildings away. Well, he was in the right place. He reached for the door and paused.

"A senior center?" he said, looking at the door. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

He pulled open the door and went in anyway. He wasn't going to go home with his tail between his legs when he'd come all the way up to the door. In for a penny, after all. He'd missed his first real date. He wasn't going to miss this one. He followed the music down the hall and into a bigger room with a wood floor and a band at the other end. 

Natasha was standing inside the dance hall, looking pretty and demure in a black dress with little red flowers and a red ruffle under the skirt. Steve stifled a smile. Demure wasn't exactly the first thing he thought of when he thought of Natasha, but she managed to pull it off, somehow. She had her hands clasped behind her back, looking around herself with an air of anticipation. 

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said, looking up at him.

"I wouldn't stand up a lady," he told her, parking himself next to her and leaning against the wall. "Or anybody else, if I could help it."

"Good," she said. "Now come and dance."

"I was thinking I could just watch for a while," Steve said, scuffing his foot. "I know we're younger than everyone else in this room by about thirty years, but I'm not feeling very spry." 

"You'll be fine," Natasha said, catching his hand and pulling him towards the floor. "Look, we'll stay over here for a while. They give dance lessons on the side."

There was an instructor over there, who was happy enough to show them the steps. Natasha seemed to know them already. "We'll just settle for a fox trot for now," she told the guy, who nodded and patiently walked Steve through each move all on his own. Only when he could find the beat and step around to the instructor's satisfaction did the instructor give him the nod. Natasha stepped up and rested her fingers lightly on his shoulder and held out her other hand and Steve realized that all of this was really happening, that for the first time in his life, he was going to be dancing with a dame. A woman. A lady. An assassin. His mind filled in with corrections over and over.

"Steve," Natasha said, and the sound of her voice settled that particular line of thoughts, though it sure didn't settle much else. "They're starting to play."

He took her hand and and found her waist with his other hand. He could feel the warmth of her skin and her muscles flexing under his fingers even through the fabric of her dress. Steve swallowed hard. There was a lot more to dancing than he'd expected. Even at arm's length. Sure, he'd been a lot closer to Natasha than this in the last couple of weeks, but fighting was different. Their bodies weren't bodies the same way when they were fighting; they were tools, not playthings. 

When it came right down to it, Steve wasn't that used to having fun. But Natasha pursed her lips and pulled him gently into the whirl of dancers shuffling along and his feet did what they were supposed to, amazingly enough. Natasha was good at all of this, which wasn't surprising, but it was funny how right it felt to be here. The music was familiar, which helped, and somehow the dancing helped too, because even knowing as little as he did, they fit in with the rest of the dancers. 

As long as he put his feet in sort of the right places at sort of the right time, they fit in. It definitely wasn't anything like the dancing he'd seen on television a few times, the kind that made him blush and look away, when they were basically having intercourse with all their clothes on. He certainly wouldn't be ready for that for a long time, if he ever was. Having a pretty lady an arm's length away was unsettling enough.

When the band finished one song, they played another and another, and if Steve couldn't always fit the couple of steps he'd learned to the beat they were giving him, he managed all right. He didn't once step on Natasha's toes. Maybe he wasn't always leading - maybe she showed him a thing or two on the fly - but he didn't always need to lead. He wasn't that kind of man. Both of them knew he was out of his depth, and he wasn't going to pretend he had it all in hand. 

After a couple of hours, the band stopped playing. Steve took out his wallet and gave them a couple of bills. 

"Thanks," he said. "Really nice to hear some of the good old tunes, you know? You guys did a great job."

They stared at him. A few of them were under sixty, and at least one seemed to recognize him.

"Thanks?" said the trumpet player, so confused it was almost a question. 

Steve smiled and turned away.

"Are you...?" the trumpet player began.

Steve looked back and laid his finger alongside his nose with a wink. "Let's keep that between us, all right?"

"We'll try to learn a few more songs," rumbled the clarinetist. "In case you come back."

"I can't take you anywhere," Natasha teased when he came back. 

"You could try," he said, holding out his arm. 

She took it with a smile. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did," he said. "It was a little taste of home. I like to show my appreciation."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, sort of biting her lip in a way that made his cheeks go a little hot and red. 

"I guess we ought to be getting back," he said, to cover his embarrassment.

"I suppose we should," she said, stepping along lightly beside him in her low heels. "Nothing better to do."

There wasn't much chance to talk on the subway - the crowd was thick and noisy - but they didn't have much to say. They shared a pole, Natasha tucking her body neatly next to his, and he was happy that he could shelter her, even if she didn't need the extra muscle. He didn't like the way some of the people looked at her. She seemed oblivious, but he was pretty sure she knew. He got the feeling there wasn't much Natasha didn't notice, which was good and bad both.

"That was nice," he said, before they went their separate ways. "It was....really nice. Could we do it again sometime?"

"How about next Saturday?" Natasha asked, and now her eyes were dancing, even if her feet were still. "Provided the world doesn't end."

"That goes without saying," he told her.

"So that's a yes?" she asked.

"Yeah," Steve said, and he almost swallowed his words, but he'd come this far. "That's a date."

\+ + + +

So on Saturday, they went dancing. He wasn't usually sure where Natasha was during the days, unless they all had something to do as a team, but he took it on faith that she'd be there after not seeing her all day Saturday. He put on his nice slacks and his nice shoes and he caught the train. He knew she'd be there, even though they hadn't talked about it all week, and there she was when he opened the door, pretty as a picture in another black and red dress. They had another lesson, this time on the cha cha, and then off they went. 

They stood out in the crowd - Steve was a good foot taller than anybody else in the room, for starters - but it was all right somehow. Nobody made too big a deal of it. Little old ladies wanted to dance with him. Little old men cut in and whirled Natasha away. It was all so kind and charming, his America and this new America mixed up together. Afterwards, they went out to get something to eat, and ended up at four different little restaurants, bringing back enough food for the whole team, just so Natasha could show him what the world had brought to the city while he'd been in the ice.

He wasn't sure when it became a thing that they did every week. It wasn't like his calendar was full to start with. Hers might have been. He never asked. He just showed up, and there she was every time. It was definitely a highlight, though. He found himself looking forward to it, even on a Wednesday once or twice. He walked a little faster down the sidewalk, reaching for the door a little sooner. There was always that moment of not-knowing, of hoping, but then he'd catch sight of her red hair and something in his chest eased and loosened, sweetness in its place. 

"Do you own anything besides black and red?" he teased her once. They'd progressed to a rhumba - he was getting pretty good at it, too. 

"It's part of my schtick," she told him. "Roll with it."

He laughed. "Roll with it. Okay. I'll roll with it."

"One of these days I'm going to take you clubbing," she said. "Then you'll need to let your hips roll with it."

"Oh, I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that," he said, twirling her. When he caught her in his arms again, she seemed just a little bit closer than she had been before. 

"One of these days, Cap," she said. "One of these days, you're going to trust me enough to come out with me into the big bad city." Her voice got low and husky on the last few words. 

She was definitely closer than she had been. He'd never really looked into her eyes this way before. They were blue, really blue, and her lips were very red, and some little voice was shouting in the back of his mind that she was going to kiss him. Right there on the dance floor, right there in front of Agnes and George and Miriam and Josef and all the rest of them. He couldn't help himself: it was like she was a magnet he kept drifting closer to.

He stumbled as the band changed songs and he stepped on her toes.

"Ow," she said mildly, and steadied him. Her arms were strong. He felt his face getting hot, but there was no way to hide it with her right there. There was no way to hide much of anything: he could feel everybody's eyes on him. He felt like the dumb kid from Brooklyn again, out of place in a world he didn't belong in, with a woman who was out of his league. Natasha stayed with him, though, which was to her credit.

"Sorry, ma'am," he told her.

"You don't have to call me..." She paused. "Actually, keep doing that. It's kind of hot."

"Um," he said. "Is it hot in here? It feels a little hot in here, I mean, now that you mention it."

"Let's get some fresh air," she said.

"I think that could be good," he agreed. 

They walked along the sidewalk. Steve started out with his hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers, wallowing a little in his shame, but Natasha reached for his wrist. 

"Loosen up," she told him. "It's not the first time somebody's stepped on my toes. In fact, that might be the least bad thing anybody's done. You don't have to hunch up like you'll never be able to look me in the face again."

"I might not," he mumbled, but he let her twine her fingers with his. It felt strange, but good-strange. All the times he'd danced with her so far, and all the times they'd fought shoulder-to-shoulder, he hadn't really held her hand just for the sake of holding it. It was comforting that she still wanted to hold his hand, after that. He raised his head, but the breeze didn't cool the heat in his cheeks, not with the warmth of her palm against his.

"Sometimes I think you're just too good to be real," she said, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

"I'm really not," he said with feeling. 

"You kind of are," she said. "Look at you. Captain America, defender of the weak, avenger of the wronged. All that strength and power and you just want to help people."

"I'm just some guy," he argued. "Just some dumb kid who got lucky because he was in the right place at the right time. I might as well use that to help other people."

"Most people would have used that to their advantage by now," she said. 

"I can't," he says. "It's a gift I was freely given. I can't tarnish that gift."

"Well, he definitely gave it to the right guy," Natasha said. 

They stopped on a street corner, waiting for the light to change. 

"Listen," he said, looking down at her. "I trust you. You know that, right? We fight together. I put my life in your hands. You've trusted me with yours enough. "

"Thank you," she said.

"I've just never been good at the other stuff," he told her. "I mean, I never really had the chance."

"Do you want the chance?" she asked, looking steadily into his eyes. They were breathing almost in sync, he noticed, the way they did when they were bracing themselves for a really big brawl. That made sense: he was pretty terrified and also thrilled, like being at the top of the hill on the Cyclone on Coney Island. Her fingers tightened briefly in his. The wind stirred her curls and the hem of her skirt and tickled the back of his neck. 

"Yeah," he said. "I think I do."

"All right," she said, and reached up and kissed him.

The light changed, he thought, because suddenly there were people flowing around them, about as concerned as rivers were about stones. He didn't care about the people, though: he cared about Natasha and the way her hands cupped the sides of his face, the way his arms slid around her body to pull her closer. His body felt like it was full of Vita-Rays again, just the part at the beginning when it had been a thrill, before all the pain. It was like kissing Peggy and not like kissing Peggy, but it was good. It was really good. His arms tightened around Natasha and she made a pleased little noise. He was going to be a lot more embarrassed in a moment, but he just couldn't let go.

Natasha broke off the kiss, her face still so close to his for a moment that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and then she eased back down. She'd been on her tiptoes, even in her heels. Around them, people were crowding up, giving them a few interested looks, but mostly lost in that big-city indifference to what was going on around them.

"Still trust me?" she asked in a murmur.

"Yeah," Steve said. He tried to smile, but he could feel it was all crooked. He was happy and sad at once, not quite sure what to feel in the wash of sensations and emotions flowing over him. He swallowed hard and tried again.

"Then it'll be fine," she said. She took his hand again, and it felt like a promise. "I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go."

"I always wanted to travel," he offered.

"Good," she said with another one of those looks that made him hot all over. "I appreciate a spirit of adventure."

"It's been quite an expedition already tonight," he assured her. The light changed again and the crowd moved.

"You want to go back?" she asked, standing so close to him that his knuckles brushed the fabric of her dress. "I mean, we've got to go somewhere. We stay here much longer, we're going to be on the internet."

"I don't think I'd like that," he said. "Being on the internet, I mean. It felt like that was just for us."

"I agree," she said, and he's not sure how he never noticed before that she had a little dimple when she smiled. "So let's go. You know how Miriam worries."

Steve laughed. "She does. You know, she made me knish last week. She sent it to Stark Towers. Tony had a field day."

"I bet he did," Natasha said. Their hands swung easily between them. He could do this, Steve thought, as long as they took it nice and slow. 

"You know," he said, "that's only the third time that's ever happened to me."

"That's the third time in your life you've been kissed?" she asked, all disbelieving. "You?"

"I didn't always look like this," he reminded her.

"You were always this good," she told him and looked him over. "Though I admit, the muscles help round out the presentation."

"Ouch," he said. "If muscles are all you're looking for, you might want to try Thor. Or maybe Banner - he bulks up quick."

"I've had muscle," she said dismissively. "It's not the package I'm interested in. It's the goods."

He leaned down and kissed her, just to see what she'd do, and also to pre-empt any package jokes. He might have been inexperienced, but he sure as hell wasn't dumb or uneducated, or, when it came to that, any less desiring of it than any other person. He'd just had a lot of things to do with his life that weren't kissing. But Natasha seemed pretty determined to change that: she kissed him back, nice and slow, like she'd been planning it a long time.

"How was that?" he asked.

"You've got some talent," she said, a little bit breathless. "Raw skill. I think I can train you up."

"You taught me to dance," he reminded her.

"I think Carl gets some of the credit for that," she said. "But I don't think I'll let him in on this." She bumped into him gently as they walked. They were almost back to the senior center, the door in sight. "What do you say, charming? After the band stops playing, want to go somewhere quiet and get your total number of lifetime kisses up to a number you can't count on your fingers?"

"As terrifying as that sounds," he said, "yeah, I think that'll work."

"Good," she said. "But for now: may I have this dance?" 

"Ma'am, I thought you'd never ask," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha succeeded in her mission to give Steve more kisses than he could count.

It was tough to keep from sliding his arm around Natasha's waist and kissing her just because he could, but the thought of pictures ending up on the internet had put a pretty good damper on Steve's wants. His public life was out there enough. He didn't need whatever private life he had exposed to everyone's scrutiny, especially not on some world wide web. That hadn't been an option, when he'd kissed Peggy. He was glad of that, though a little piece of him wished he had more evidence than a single picture of their time together. But Natasha was walking alongside him, every step bringing them closer to the mansion, and if her smile was any indication, they were going to make plenty of memories together.

Steve swallowed hard at the thought of what that might entail. Just kisses were plenty for him for now. It wouldn't be right to get up to anything more, not right away. He wanted it to mean something, the first time, and all the times when it came down to it. He'd gone without that particular experience this long - he could wait a little longer. If Natasha didn't understand that, well, eventually he'd find somebody else to kiss, probably, but she'd been gentle with him so far. He was pretty sure she'd stay the course.

They both started walking faster as the mansion came into view. By the time they reached the door, they were almost jogging. The street might have been a no-kissing zone, but by mutual unspoken agreement, the mansion was not. Anybody who wanted to upload anything would have been long gone anyway - Tony would have made sure of that. Besides, on a Saturday night, the place was mostly deserted, and that was a very good thing in Steve's mind. 

As soon as they were both inside, Natasha slipped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a lingering kiss. He kissed her back a little harder than before, wrapping his arms around her. She went straight to his head, and maybe he couldn't get drunk anymore, but he remembered the feeling, and it was a hell of a lot like this. His fingers and toes tingled. His skin felt tight and hot. He was glad he wasn't in the Captain America suit - he was pretty sure whatever super-spandex Tony had engineered would only make the problem worse. Natasha's fingers tightened around the back of his neck and she leaned against him and his thoughts went fuzzy.

"Let's take this upstairs," Natasha breathed.

"Your place or mine?" he joked.

"Mine," she said decisively. "I've got better booze."

"I can't get drunk," he reminded her. 

"Who said anything about getting drunk?" she asked, a wicked glint in her eyes. "On top of which, who said anything about you?"

"Ouch," he said. "Put me in my place."

"I intend to," she said, and her voice was more intoxicating than any whiskey he'd ever had. Now he understood why people made fools of themselves for this - he would have followed her anywhere in the city to keep kissing her, and they hadn't even gone very far. _Just keep it together, Rogers_ , he told himself. _A kiss doesn't mean what it used to, and maybe it never has, except to you._ But Natasha looked at him and she smiled like she meant every second of it, and he couldn't help but walk along with her, reaching for her hand.

They kissed in the elevator too, her pressed into the corner and pulling him closer by his shirt front, and already he was up to counting his kisses on two hands. That was progress. He liked the way she tugged at him, the way she clearly wanted him. He'd mostly always seen that happen to other people, except with Peggy and the blonde assistant who'd kissed him the once. He'd seen it happen with Bucky. It was nice that it was happening to him.

"Earth to Rogers," Natasha said, breaking the kiss. "Come in, Steve. We're losing you."

"Sorry," he said. "Sometimes I think too much."

"It's okay," she said. "You've got a lot to think about. I'll just have to figure out how to keep your attention."

"I can't imagine you'll have too much trouble with that," he told her.

"No," she said. "I'm extremely resourceful." The elevator chimed and the door opened. She slipped out from the corner and caught his hand. "Come on."

Her place was definitely nicer than his, or at least she'd arranged it better. She didn't have a lot of stuff, honestly. He'd be willing to bet that most of them didn't, except Tony; they were all used to picking up and moving out at a moment's notice. But it was nice all the same, and her furniture looked comfortable, which he suspected would be a good thing. She kissed him again, walking backwards toward the couch, and he carefully guided her into a little rhumba step as they went. He might as well use what he'd learned. She laughed and flung her arms around him. 

"I don't think that quite fits with what I've got in the stereo," she teased him as they danced across the living room. 

"Not enough hip action?" he teased back.

"Not nearly enough," she said with a smile. He put a little roll into his step and twirled her. Her hair flew out around her face and her skirt flew out around her knees and she laughed. He pulled her back firmly into his arms and kissed her. She melted against him, her hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair, and it felt so good. He couldn't help making a little grunting noise of pleasure, which made his cheeks hot with embarrassment all over again, but she seemed to like it. She hummed at him and her lips parted. Her tongue grazed his and he squeezed her closer in surprise but kissed her back. 

The French really knew what they were about, apparently.

"Come on," Natasha said, a little breathless, and pulled him toward the couch. He stumbled after her. She kicked off her shoes and sat down, tucking her feet under her. He sat down beside her and held out his arms, and she moved willingly into them, kneeling next to him and bracing herself against his chest so that she could reach his mouth easily. He was glad they were sitting down now, because her tongue in his mouth made his legs wobbly. In a good way, obviously, but he was still grateful for the couch cushions holding him up as their kisses deepened. He was grateful she wasn't actually in his lap, too, given the situation there.

"How're you doing?" she asked in a husky voice. 

"Good," he said. "Uh. Really good."

"Let me know if you want more," she said.

"This is good for now," he said. "I know it's old-fashioned of me."

"That's all right," she told him, brushing her hair back out of her face. "It's charming. Most guys want to hit and quit it."

"I'm not even sure what that means," he said, "but it doesn't sound very respectful."

She laughed and sat back on her heels, looking at him warmly. "Steve Rogers, you are too good to be true."

He shifted, uncomfortably aware of how much he really wanted her, which was a lot, and how gorgeous she looked with her hair all mussed and her cheeks pink, which was also a lot. "I'm really not."

She tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "Yeah. You really are."

"It's not that I don't want to go further," he said. "Because, uh, I do. I mean, if you want to. Sometime. But not tonight. I want it to mean something. I don't want to overshadow how good this is, looking forward to something else."

"I won't push your limits," she promised. "Slow is good. Slow is a nice change."

He let out a long breath he hadn't even known he was holding. "That's a relief."

"But this is okay?" she asked, moving closer to him.

"More than okay," he told her, sliding his arm around her.

"And how about this?" she asked, taking his other hand and placing it on her knee, just under the hem of her skirt. Her skin was warm and smooth and the touch made his thoughts run slow again. 

"Uh," he said and cleared his throat. "Yeah. That's, um. Fine."

"Good," she said quietly. 

"Can we just...sit here for a minute?" he asked. 

She smiled. "Sure."

He brushed her thigh with his thumb, drawing little circles. The netting under her skirt scratched against his wrist. Her lips parted as she gazed at him. Her eyes seemed larger and bluer than he remembered, and she looked half-hypnotized, drunk on kisses just the same as he was. He was glad they were in this together. If it wasn't going to be Peggy, then he was glad it was someone with the same fiesty spirit. Natasha had her own pain and her own history of sadness, he could tell, but she'd come through it to the other side. He respected that. He admired it. And he really, _really_ liked the way she kissed.

"Am I losing you again?" she asked him.

He groaned. "Sorry."

"It's sweet," she said, stroking his face. "I like to watch you thinking about things, even when you're a million miles away."

"I guess I've got one of those faces everybody can read," he said, looking down and turning his cheek into her palm.

"I'm not everybody," she corrected. 

"No," he said. "You're not, and that's certain." He kissed the place where her palm met her wrist. "I like that about you."

"One of these days you'll have to tell me what you're thinking about when you go away," she said. "But not right now." She leaned forward and kissed him. His hand slid a little bit further up her thigh. He could feel the muscle flexing under his fingers and he squeezed gently. She smiled against his mouth. "You're a quick study."

"I try," he said. 

"I like that about you," she said with a smile. "It's a good quality."

He rubbed her back slowly with the hand that wasn't on her thigh. She was soft and solid all at once, poised to move. She watched him with a smile and ran her fingertips along the curve of his ear, making him shiver. He'd have to go with his instincts here; her grin wasn't quite guidance enough. He stretched his arm up to brush the backs of her bare shoulders with his palm. She arched into his touch, pushing her hips forward so that his other hand slid that much further up her thigh. He was halfway to elbow-deep in her skirt now, but her skin was so fascinatingly soft. Her eyes were half-closed as he stroked her shoulders and her thigh. 

"One of these days I'll let you give me a full rubdown," she murmured, peering at him through her lashes.

"I've heard I have good hands," he offered. It was a surgeon who'd told him so, but that didn't' seem fit to mention.

She laughed. "No doubt. I'm sure you have good everything."

"Time will tell, I guess," he said.

He pulled her forward gently, not so much that she tipped into his lap, but just far enough that his lips could reach her throat. His fingers curled around the back of her thigh. He kissed the hollow where her collarbones came together. She sighed and let her fingers run through his hair again. He rubbed the tip of his nose up and down the pretty line of her throat, his lips following to soothe away the tickle of it. Natasha made sweet little noises and pressed closer to him. Her breasts weren't so far below his chin; it was easy to tip his head down and kiss the tops of them where the neckline of her dress pushed them together. It was a nice dress, mostly red with black polka dots, and he especially liked the scoop of the bosom. He could feel the rasp of his skin against hers - he hadn't shaved since this morning, and his stubble was coming in - and he tried to be gentle, but she seemed to like it.

"Oh, _Steve_ ," she said, and the tone of her voice made him feel hot and dirty all over, in a good way. 

"Is that all right?" he asked.

"Amazing," she said in a throaty voice. "You can do that all night."

"I believe I could," he said, lips against her skin.

She laughed and he laid his ear to her collarbones and listened to the sound of it, the way it filled up her whole body. It was peaceful to rest there. Perfume rose in a warm breath from her pulse points and he could smell a light clean sweat from when they'd be dancing. He kissed the place where her shoulder met her neck and opened his mouth to taste the salt on her skin. He stroked her skin with his tongue and when she gasped, found the place again and kneaded it softly. She moaned a little and his fingers clenched around the back of her thigh. He calmed himself down; every time she made a noise it went right through him like an electric charge.

She tugged gently at his hair and he raised his mouth to hers. She kissed him hungrily, her tongue insistent, her touch not shy anymore. He kissed her back with the same wanting. Maybe he'd never acted on it, but by God, he _felt_ desire. He poured all his lonely nights into his kisses, all the longing he'd felt, all the confused excitement of the few times he'd looked at dirty pictures as a teenager. He stroked the back of her thigh until she squirmed in his arms.

"That tickles," she scolded.

"You can undergo interrogation and torture, but you can't take a little tickling?" he teased, running his fingers lightly over the spots that made her squirm the most. She wriggled, grabbed him, and twisted somehow, so that before he knew it, she was flat on her back on the sofa and he was braced over her, gazing down at her face.

"There," she said in satisfaction.

"I can still reach," he said, demonstrating.

"Yeah, but," she said as he found the worst spot and her hips arched up into his, "this is much more dangerous."

He concentrated on his breathing for a second until some of his blood returned to his brain. "I see." 

"Unless you want the evening to end prematurely, I suggest you stay as still as possible," she said, hooking her fingers into his pockets and pulling him down against her. 

"You have a point," he said, still focusing hard on breathing in and out - this close to her, it was like his body only cared about one function, and it wasn't one he was going to fulfill tonight.

She looked up at him with mischief dancing in her eyes. "So kiss me already," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He dipped his head for a series of little glancing kisses before he opened his mouth to hers, shivering as her tongue slid against his. Her skirt had rucked up high on her thighs in the tussle and he eased his hand up her leg, his thumb briefly grazing lace that wasn't any layer of her dress as he pulled her skirt down. 

"Sorry," he said.

"No need to apologize," she told him, grinning. "I wore date underwear just in case."

"Date underwear," he repeated, his brain stalling out.

She pretended to look around and then raised her head to whisper in his ear. "Don't tell anybody, but I look _hot_ in black lace."

"Nngh," he said incoherently. "I'll. Um. Keep your secrets."

"Good," she whispered, her breath hot and sensual against his ear. "I know this isn't our third date, but a girl can dream."

"It's our eighth date," he said automatically. "People do this on the _third_ date?"

"They usually do a lot more," she said with amusement. "But we're taking it slow. You counted our Saturday dance dates?"

"Of course," he said. "It's not often a lady asks me on a date. I might as well keep track."

"Steve..." she said, and her voice hovered somewhere between laughter and dismay. "Never change."

"Can't promise that," he said. "Changed already. You would have laughed, to see the man I used to be."

"The ladies just haven't known what they were missing," she said, running her hands down his chest. 

"This is a change," he murmured, kissing her. "You think I shouldn't?"

"No," she said. "This you definitely _should_. I retract my previous statement until I can say it right." 

"Okay then," he said, and kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down until he was barely holding himself above her.

"Take the hint, Rogers," she murmured.

"I'll hurt you," he gasped.

"You won't," she reassured him, and tugged at him. He eased himself down on top of her, careful to put as much of his weight as possible onto the cushions instead of her body, but she seemed all right. He canted his hip toward the back of the couch, one of his legs pressed between hers. There was no mistaking that he wanted her now. He couldn't have hidden it if he wanted to, but it seemed to be something she was happy to know.

"Mmm," she said, smiling against his mouth. 

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she affirmed. 

Her skirt was pulled too tight for comfort between her legs and he pushed himself up for a moment, reaching down to rearrange the fabric. She caught his hand, dragging his fingers up her thigh. She was looking into his eyes, waiting for him to say no. The net of her underskirt piled up around his wrist and his thumb was grazing that lace again. He traced the crease of her thigh briefly, following the line of it down to her inner thigh. The lace was damp and hot there and he groaned and pulled his hand back, easing the hem of her skirt back down. 

"Just a little preview," she said, her voice husky and breathless. "God, I want you."

He buried his face in her neck, kissing up and down the cord of her tendon until she trembled against him. "The feeling's mutual," he told her, the words mufled against her skin. 

She reached down and squeezed his ass and he groaned into the hollow of her shoulder. She kissed his temple. "Next time, will you touch me?"

"If you want me to," he said. "If you'll tell me how."

She laughed in amazement, but it turned into a moan halfway through. "Yes, God, I want you to."

"This is the fastest taking-it-slow I ever did in my life," he told her, nuzzling at her ear. 

"You've got a lot of time to make up for," she said, digging her nails gently into his back through his shirt. "Believe me when I say this is the slowest I've ever gone."

"Now that's sad," he said. "Because I'm enjoying this, and I'm enjoying you. As good as this is, and as pretty as you are, I can't imagine not taking the time to savor this."

"Speed has its own merits," she said. "Not everyone is as charming as you are. I didn't think guys like you existed, outside of books." 

"Maybe they don't," he said. "Seems like I'm the only one."

"One in seven billion," she said sweetly. She stretched up to kiss him. "I like it."

"Well, thank you, ma'am," he said, putting on his best manners. "I aim to please." 

"You're right on target," she said, moving under him until he groaned. "Tell me if I push it too far."

"That's about my limit," he grunted. He could barely string the words together, he was so drunk on wanting her. He hadn't had a sip of alcohol, but his limbs were heavy and loose and his thoughts marched a slow pattern between want and need. 

"All right," she said, going still. "What about this?" She took his hand and stroked it up her body to her breast. 

"That's fine," he said, squeezing gently. Her muscles twitched, but she stayed steady under him. Under his thumb, he could feel her nipple rising through the fabric of her dress and bra. "You?"

"I'm great," she purred. "You can do that just as long as you want."

"We might be here a while," he joked. 

"Even better," she said. 

He kissed her, taking the initiative this time and parting her lips with his tongue as he stroked her breast. She moaned quietly into his mouth. His whole body throbbed at the sound. He felt like he was hard all over, his muscles tensed and waiting for her touch, every nerve ending standing at attention. The warmth of her skin and the swell of her breast in his palm were almost too much. She tugged at his lower lip with her teeth and he groaned and nearly came undone. 

Her phone rang. Natasha sighed.

"Should you get that?" he asked.

"Probably," she said, rolling her eyes. She was out from under him almost before he could push up, stalking across the room in her bare feet. If he'd thought she looked pretty and disheveled before, she looked gloriously mussed now. He liked her angry slink - she reminded him of the panther he'd seen at the zoo. She picked up the phone and swiped her thumb across the screen.

"What," she demanded. "So? It's Saturday night. Tell him to go fuck himself." Steve, peering over the back of the couch half-dazed, nodded to himself. He didn't always think that cursing was necessary, but Natasha did it with style, at least. She made a chatty motion at him with her hand and looked at the ceiling. "No, I know he likes it better when you help. You've only told me about twenty million times. I'm busy."

"You have to go?" Steve asked silently, pointing at the door. Natasha shook her head.

"I'm _busy_ , Barton. What was that code word we had? No, not Kuala Lumpur, that one went fine. Ah, Istanbul. Yeah. None of your business, that's who." Her voice was sharp but teasing. "No, he doesn't need to know. Tell Coulson to handle somebody else tonight. Istanbul, seriously." She listened for a moment and then sighed.

"Did it have to be tonight?" Barton seemed to confirm. "Fine. Should we not be assembling, then? Costumes for everybody?" She listened again and her lips curved up. "Just you and me, huh? Like the old days. All right. Shut up. I'll meet you on the roof in thirty." She tapped the phone to end the call and set it on the table.

"Trouble?" Steve asked, his voice a lot raspier than he'd expected.

"Isn't there always," Natasha sighed. "Which means we're going to have to say good night, unfortunately."

"Maybe it's for the best," Steve offered. "I don't know how I would have ever left, otherwise."

She smirked at him. "I would have taken you right to the very edge and then opened the door," she teased. 

"Ah," he said. "Mission pretty nearly accomplished."

"Stamina, darling," she said. "We'll work on it." 

"Hey, it's been I don't even know how long since we came back to your place," he pointed out. "That's not bad." He got up and crossed the room to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him for a kiss. "You going out with Barton?"

"It's not what you think and I can't tell you," she said smoothly. "Believe me when I tell you there's nothing between me and Barton and there never has been, not like that. He got me out of a bad situation and we're close, but Coulson's the jealous type."

"Good to know," Steve murmured. "I'll try not to slap Barton's ass too many times after the next mission."

"Nah," Natasha said. "He likes it." 

"It's a shame you have to go," Steve said. He didn't know where he got the gumption to say it that way - he sounded like he'd done this before, like he'd whispered sweet nothings in the ears of hundreds of women. At least some part of him knew what he was doing. He'd done all right for himself this evening, and more importantly, he'd done right by her.

"It really is," Natasha murmured, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck, which pressed her breasts against his chest in a distracting way. "I'd say you had a couple more hours in you before every touch became complete and delicious agony."

"Maybe we'll find out next Saturday," he said, as calm as if her words hadn't made his hips jolt a little against hers.

"On our ninth date?" she teased. 

"Our ninth date," he confirmed. "Our third third date, if you'd rather."

"And what happens on the third third date?" she asked, sliding her body against his. He remembered the heat between her legs and stifled a groan.

"Show up and find out," the clever part of him said.

"Sir, yes sir," she teased in a lazy, seductive voice.

"We still have thirty minutes," he said hopefully. 

She grinned and stretched up to kiss him, her hands reaching behind her back. She eased down the zipper of her dress. "Do you know," she asked between kisses, "how long it takes to get into that damn catsuit?" The zipper reached the bottom of its track. Natasha hooked her thumbs under the shoulder straps and wriggled out of her dress. It fell in a frothy heap of netting and fabric around her feet. Steve stared.

"Uh," he said. "Probably...probably a while." He blinked. "Mine's hard too. My suit, I mean. It's hard to get on. I keep meaning to talk to Tony about that."

"He'd probably just make it tighter," Natasha said. "He's helpful that way." She crossed her arms under her breasts, which only emphasized them. They didn't really need the extra support. He was already looking.

"You were right about the black lace," he said, swallowing hard. His pulse was a dull thud in his groin; every other sensation was sharp and immediate.

"I know," she said with a smirk. She stepped closer and he wrapped his arms cautiously around her. God, she felt incredible. He slid his hand up to weigh her breast and his thighs tensed with the effort of not nudging against her. She moaned quietly as his thumb grazed her nipple. "If you don't go, I'll never get ready."

"I don't think Coulson gives a damn about Istanbul," he said.

She laughed. "No, he definitely doesn't. Not unless he's the one in Istanbul, which he was."

Steve pulled away from her with difficulty. "We should wait until next Saturday, right? Cool off, that kind of thing."

"We should definitely wait until next Saturday," she agreed. "Otherwise I'm going to have an extremely difficult time not just ripping all your clothes off."

"I appreciate the effort," he said gravely.

"You have no idea," she said with feeling. 

"I'm just glad you're willing to show me all the wonders of this century," he told her.

"We should do some more of that," she said. "And we should definitely do some more of this. And you should go."

"All right," he said, tearing himself away after one last kiss. "I'll see you whenever."

"Sooner than that," she said, trailing her fingers down his back as he went past her. It took all his strength to walk away. He hesitated before he opened the door, seeing as how she was in her underwear, but she didn't look at all uncomfortable. She nodded at him and he reluctantly turned the knob and went out into the hallway. She followed him, keeping a distance between them; the pull would be too strong otherwise, he thought, and she'd be late, and Coulson would be extremely cranky. He took a few more steps and Natasha stopped at the threshold of her apartment. 

"You touch yourself, don't you, Steve?" she asked, loitering in her doorway.

His cheeks went red-hot. There was probably surveillance in the hallways. There was probably surveillance in her apartment, if it came to that. "I'm human, aren't I?" he mumbled back.

Her grin was wicked. "Then that's a yes?"

"You wouldn't ask Tony that kind of thing," he said, not quite looking at her.

She waved one hand dismissively. "Tony would just tell me if he thought I ought to know. He's generous that way. Believe me, after he and Pepper got together, it was all I ever heard about. But I don't care about him. I care about you."

"You know, we didn't ask questions like this back in my day," he said. She gave him a pointed look and crossed her arms. He cleared his throat and stepped closer to her so that he could lower his voice. "Yes."

"Make sure you're thinking of me tonight," she told him.

"I, uh," he stammered. "I don't think that'll be a problem, ma'am."

"Good," she said, her lips curving up sweetly. "Because I'll _definitely_ be thinking about you. And one of these days I'll expect a full report of exactly what you'd like to happen." She stretched up on her toes and stole one last lingering kiss, sliding her way down his body on her way back to the floor. "Good night, Captain."

"Jesus," he said to himself after she closed the door. He shook his head. "Jesus." Still, he couldn't help whistling to himself a little as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He'd have a full report for her. Extremely full, he suspected. He knew she'd make him relive every moment of it, too. It would, without a doubt, be the best debriefing he'd ever had.

"Welcome to the twenty-first century," he told himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For their third third date, Steve and Natasha did something special.

It was good that the week after Natasha kissed him was busy. Steve was rarely grateful for the bad behavior of the people they had to go and stop, but it was honestly a relief to be too tired at night to think about her for long before he fell asleep. It was different when they were out on a mission. He could separate the woman he fought beside from the woman he'd held so close, and the funny thing was, they fought together better than they had before. Maybe it was the dance lessons: he knew how her body moved, what she was going to do, and he could be there to help when she needed a boost or somebody to watch her back. They were all working better as a team, but he felt it most with her.

Still, by Thursday night, he was restless. All the fun was over by early afternoon, depending on your definition of fun, so he headed to the gym and took his frustration out on the punching bag. He practiced his dance steps, swaying around it and landing a good punch every now and again to keep it swinging. He hummed to himself as he moved, a little swing tune. 

When he looked up, Natasha was there, standing in the corner with one foot braced against the wall, watching him. "How's it going, Cap?"

"Sorry, I didn't see you there," he said, catching the bag and stilling it.

"That's kind of my job," she pointed out. "Don't worry about it."

"I would have said hello, that's all," he told her. 

"You're a good man, Cap," she said, pushing off the wall and coming closer. "So what brings you down here at this hour? We have pizza upstairs. Tony's trying to get Banner drunk enough to do impersonations of some scientist no one else has ever heard of. Ought to be hilarious."

"Yeah, sounds like a really good time," Steve said. "I just thought I'd get in a workout. You know, you have target practice, I've got this thing." He gave the bag a casual whack. 

"Right," Natasha said. "Of course. That makes complete sense. After a long day of delivering justice, the first thing on my mind is getting to the gym." She stepped closer. 

"Things on my mind," Steve said. 

"Like me?" she asked sweetly. 

"Might be," he said, holding the bag between them. Sweatpants hadn't been the best choice for this after all. "Thought it'd be easier to work out if I was alone."

"Maybe so," she said. The look in her eyes told him she knew exactly why he was standing behind the bag. "But Saturday's not so far away."

"Looking forward to it," he said. 

"Glad to hear it," she told him. "I think it's the tango this week. Carl's all excited about it."

"Carl's not the only one, I'm sure," Steve said. "I know how Josef likes to monopolize you on the dance floor."

"Jealous?" she raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry. I'll save the last dance for you."

"Good," he said. "I'd hate to think of anyone else taking you home."

"Well, we have a date," Natasha said. "Our third third date."

"That we do," Steve said, somewhat at a loss for words. 

"Come upstairs," Natasha told him. "Pizza. Beer. Watching a colleague humiliate himself. I can keep myself in hand if you can."

"I'll be up in a little while," he said, leaning against the bag. 

"Promise?" she asked. He didn't know how she did that particular thing with her lips, like she was biting them and smiling at the same time, but it was a lovely trick. 

"Promise," he said, as if he could deny her anything when she was looking at him like that. 

"Good," she said. "I'll try to save you a slice of pepperoni. No guarantees."

"It's the thought that counts," he told her. 

"I have a _lot_ of thoughts," she said, winked, and left.

He let out a breath and devoted himself to the bag. He only stopped when his arms burned and his chest heaved. He took a long shower and then grabbed the elevator up to the lounge. There was a single piece of pepperoni cold on a paper plate. Natasha jerked her chin at it and he smiled at her gratefully, added a few pieces of Tony's creation of the week - bacon, olives, onions, anchovies, and pineapple, it looked like - and collapsed into a chair. Banner was doing his famous impersonation, and it was pretty clear that nobody was paying attention, but the Yankees were playing on tv, which was all the entertainment he needed. The company was good, and Tony's pizza wasn't awful, and he had a date on Saturday.

He wasn't doing so bad at the twenty-first century, this week.

\+ + + +

Steve got through Friday and Saturday with the help of some punk kids who thought it would be funny to pretend they were the new Hydra, and then it was Saturday night. Steve showered and dressed even more carefully than usual. He combed his hair down, looking in the mirror, and then considered combing his eyebrows. They were hair too. Maybe it was something people did these days. People did a lot of things these days he'd never considered. 

"Get it together, Rogers," he told his reflection. "Lots of people do this every day." He reconsidered. "Well, maybe not every day. But you can dance, and you can handle a few kisses, and if it comes to anything else, you can think on your feet. Or off them." He leaned on the sink. "Oh, God, what am I getting myself into?"

He had to wipe his sweaty palms on his slacks three or four times on the way to the senior center. The thought of going all the way, or at least going further than they had last week, frankly terrified the pants off him. But now instead of Peggy talking in his head, it was Bucky. _Steven Rogers, if you don't do everything that nice young lady tells you to, I'll never forgive you._

"It's not that simple, Buck," he said. Fortunately, nobody was around to hear him talking to his familiar ghosts.

 _It's the simplest thing in the world, pal_ , Bucky reassured him. 

"I don't know," Steve said. "The anticipation is killing me. I've waited so long for the right partner. What if I do it all wrong?"

Bucky laughed at him. _Just do what she tells you. You can follow orders, can't you, Steve? You'll do all right._

Boy, did he miss Bucky.

Natasha was waiting when he got there. She always got there before he did, even though he never told her when he was leaving. Her dress tonight was black and white polka dots, trimmed with red ribbon. She looked like a dream.

"Hey, soldier," she said. "Come here often?"

"Every week these days. You look great," he told her.

She swished her skirt around. "Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself."

"I should have brought you flowers," he said. "Our third third date - that's gotta be something special."

"They would have been hard to hold onto while we were dancing," she said, doing that biting-her-lip smile again. He found it just as sweet this time.

"We're tangoing tonight?" he asked. 

"We sure are," Carl said, coming up behind him and clapping Steve as high up the arm as he could reach. "Let me borrow your little lady a second and I'll show you what we're all about." He swept Natasha into his arms and danced her down the room. Steve stifled a laugh at the look on her face, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Carl plucked a fake rose out of an arrangement on one of the tables and clenched it between his teeth, sweeping around the end of the dance floor and bringing Natasha back. 

"Impressive," Steve said politely. 

"It'll look better when you do it," Carl said, giving him the fondly nostalgic onceover. "It always looks better when you kids do it. Fifty years of dancing for what? So Captain America can show me up." He grinned. "Here's what you do."

Ten or fifteen minutes later Steve could mostly get through it, so off they went, into the crowd of elderly couples. At least he could dip Natasha - he wasn't lacking in strength for that. She hooked her leg around his and slid her calf slowly up the back of his thigh.

"Maybe we should cut out early tonight," she murmured as he pulled her close in time with a pulse in the music.

"Agnes hasn't even had her dance yet," he chided. 

"Maybe you should offer her the next one," Natasha suggested. 

"I'm enjoying this," Steve said.

"Not avoiding me?" Natasha asked.

"If I am, I'm not doing a very good job of it," Steve told her. "What with having my arms around you and all." He lowered his lips to her ear. "Believe me when I say I'm not avoiding you. I just like to make these moments last."

"You old romantic," she said, but they stayed until the band stopped playing. Agnes had her dance and Josef had his, but it was a relief to catch Natasha up in his arms again. Dancing with her wasn't quite the same as kissing her, but it was sort of similar. They read the lines of each other's bodies, paying close attention, until it was nearly as intimate as kissing, or fighting beside each other. 

"Let's get out of here," Natasha said as the band started to put away their instruments, and this time, Steve was only too ready to go. 

They managed, barely, to keep their hands off each other until they got back to the mansion, but as soon as they walked through the door, Natasha pulled Steve in for a lingering kiss.

"Interesting," said Banner behind them. "I guess I owe Tony twenty bucks. Hey, you two, get a room."

"We're planning on it," Natasha said, apparently unflustered as she gazed up at Steve. He looked at Banner and hitched up his shoulders, his face hot.

"Don't worry about it, buddy," Banner said, understanding in his eyes. "Nobody could blame either one of you. You kids go enjoy yourselves."

"Thanks?" Steve said, and Natasha hauled him off to the elevator. Whoever was monitoring the security cameras was getting a good show, Steve reflected, as Natasha flung her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his, teasing him. He let her amuse herself for a moment and then dipped his head, capturing her mouth with his. She murmured happily and reciprocated passionately, her body pressed against his. The elevator doors opened and they stumbled out into the hall. Natasha unlocked her door as Steve bent and lifted her hair so that he could press a kiss to the nape of her neck. 

"Get in here," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and wasn't at all surprised when she put her hands on his back and pushed him toward the couch. Another calculated push sent him sprawling on the cushions; he kept his body loose, trusting her, and hit the couch comfortably. She stretched out beside him, toeing off her shoes, and he slipped his fingers under her chin and brought her mouth to his. Her lips parted immediately, her tongue sliding against his, and he groaned a little at the heat of her mouth. He rested his other hand on the small of her back, easing it down bit by bit as they kissed until the curve of her backside filled his palm.

"Tell me if I presume too much," he murmured.

"Baby," she said in a husky voice, "I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could throw at me that I couldn't handle." She pressed her hips against his and his fingers tightened in reflex at the sweetness that shot through him. 

"Good," he said, almost choking on the word. Natasha grinned and leaned into his mouth, her fingers firm on the back of his head. She slid her toes up the side of his leg until her knee was hooked over his hip. Her skirt was rumpled almost to the top of her thigh; he let his hand slide a little further and found bare skin under his fingers. The shock of it jolted through him. He couldn't help his hips jerking just a little against hers. She murmured in pleasure.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be," she breathed. "Don't stop." She kissed him even more fiercely, both of her hands cupped around his face, and he melted into her and let his fingers wander up and down the back of her smooth thigh. The warmth of her skin and the happy little murmrs she made set a fire in him. He had to tuck his face against her shoulder for a moment, panting for breath.

"You okay?" she asked. 

"Great," he said. "Never better. You?"

"Amazing," she told him. He found her mouth again. It was less intense, kissing her while he was touching her; the pleasure spread all through him. But the magnitude of it was greater, the sensations building on each other until he was almost shaking with need. He'd never thought this would happen for him, not before the serum, and not before Peggy. It was unreal, that he was here with this beautiful, exciting, dangerous woman. If it was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

Natasha bit his lip gently and he snapped back to the moment. "Better," she said. "Stay with me."

"I will," he promised. He stroked the back of her leg and she tightened her grip on him. He traced the muscle at the back of her thigh, making her shiver.

"I want your skin against mine," she whispered. "Can I have that?"

His brain shorted out at the thought, but fortunately his mouth said "Yeah". Her hands moved down from his face to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them deftly. He sat up to shrug out of it and tug off his undershirt, while she slowly unzipped her dress, her eyes locked with his. He swallowed hard at the fire in her gaze. He felt vulnerable, bare-chested in front of her, but her eyes devoured him as she slipped out of her dress. She was wearing date underwear again, black lace that barely covered the subject, and she put one hand on his chest to hold him down and straddled his lap. 

"There," she said in satisfaction, leaning against him until she could nuzzle at his ear. "Yeah, that's better. Even if you are still wearing pants."

Steve's mouth was dry and his head was spinning. She felt so good against him that he didn't have words to describe it. "I forgot."

"We'll take care of it if we need to," she said, nipping at his earlobe. She kissed her way down his neck, her hands at his hips, and he ran his fingers all over her. Her bare skin was warm and silky under his hands and he wanted to press himself against her until they melted into each other. His body tingled wherever their skin touched. He felt drunk again, every moment slow and sweet like honey, every sensation intensified. She filled up his thoughts, consuming every bit of his attention. Her knees gripped the sides of his thighs and he could feel the heat of her against his groin even through his pants. He ached, his blood throbbing in his veins, but at least it was unbearably _good_. He groaned, tangling his fingers in her hair as he ran his other hand down her back and over her backside. 

"Will you touch me?" she asked.

"Where?" he asked, dazed with wanting her.

"Here," she said, guiding his hand between her thighs.

He stroked her through the lace, his fingers fumbling. She didn't seem to mind how uncertain his touch was. Her hand stayed cupped around his, her fingers tightening whenever he found a sensitive spot. He almost groaned at how wet the thin fabric was, imagining the slickness of her underneath the lace. She encouraged him with little moans of her own. He'd seen a few dirty pictures, knew roughly what he was feeling, but the curled photographs didn't compare at all to the real thing. He stroked the crease of her thigh, too overstimulated to touch her anywhere else, and she kissed him, her mouth hungry. 

He played it by ear: the more noise she made, the longer his fingers lingered in that particular place. He could feel her folds through the lace, and there was the little nub that Bucky had promised him drove women wild. It worked with Natasha, at least: her body shivered when he rubbed the place, and her kisses got frantic. She sighed happily when he finally slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of her panties. His bent wrist grazed the swell in his trousers and he groaned at that and at the texture of her under his fingertips. She was slick and smooth and welcoming. He explored her folds, his fingers desperate to touch more and more of her but not daring to dip inside her. He circled her entrance and worked his way back up. She murmured encouragement, her breath catching when he found the place again.

"You can stay right there as long as you want," she said breathlessly. "Circles. Make little circles." He kissed her, trying to follow directions as her hips shifted above his. His aim wasn't perfect, but she didn't seem to mind. She moaned every time he touched the right spot, which was more and more often. After a little while his fingers didn't slide the same way and the friction seemed too much for her; she whimpered and he eased back down along her folds until his fingertips were slick again. 

"Inside me," she whispered. "Please." 

He groaned and pressed trembling fingertips against her entrance. She seemed so small and tight. He hesitated, drawing circles with his thumb now. 

"It won't hurt?" he asked.

She chuckled low in her throat and kissed him lingeringly. "No, handsome, it won't hurt. Start with one if you're worried."

He cleared his throat. "Taking it slow, remember?"

"Much slower and I'll have to take matters into my own hands," she teased.

"Don't let it be said I didn't give the lady what she wanted," he said, crooking his fingertip to circle her entrance.

He eased one finger inside her and she sighed in relief. "Oh, yeah." He leaned his head on her shoulder and groaned as she moved slowly up and down. It was almost too much, the tight wetness of her around him. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this, this enveloping, glorious heat. There were rough places inside her, surprising him; when he rubbed them, her body shivered and tensed. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like when it wasn't his finger. He kissed her collarbone and her neck helplessly, trying to focus enough to keep touching her. 

"More," she said. The next time he drew out his finger, he slid a second one in along with it. She hummed, sounding pleased. He pressed into her, reaching for the rough places, enjoying the vibrations of her throat as she moaned. Her breath came faster and faster, her chest rising and falling. His free hand rose from her thigh to her breast and he cupped it through the lace. She reached behind herself impatiently and unhooked her bra, tossing it over her shoulder. Her balance was impressive; she didn't waver on his fingers, even as she took his head and pushed it toward her breast. After a moment, he took the hint and kissed it, taking her nipple into his mouth, and she moaned. He licked the salt from her damp skin and she moaned again, sinking down faster on his fingers. It was a struggle to keep circling with his thumb, to keep his hand steady as she moved over him; he was panting with desire, aching with the need to touch more of her.

"Almost," she panted. "Almost. More." He was too wrapped up in her to even think about it this time. He eased a third finger into her, curling his tongue around her nipple, squeezing her other breast gently. She moaned and trembled in his arms, her body shaking now each time he thrust his fingers into her. She clutched his head, her elbows digging into his shoulders, her fingers laced through his hair. Her moans got higher and louder and he groaned and pressed himself against her.

"Natasha," he whispered.

She held him tighter, her breath just a series of high-pitched gasps. "God, _Steve_ ," she said in a throaty voice, and wrapped her arms tightly around him as her body shook. His face was pressed into her breasts and he could barely breathe, but her inner muscles clutched around his fingers as she ground down against his hand and it was overwhelming, feeling the effect he had on her body. She clung to him, trembling, her body jerking every now and then. It was almost too much to bear. He dragged his face out from between her breasts and his fingers out from inside her, holding her close and murmuring comfort. She kissed him, her face creased as if she were in pain as she sank down on his lap.

"You're okay?" he mumbled. "Natasha, you're okay?"

She laughed softly. "I'm better than okay," she reassured him. "Oh, God." She tightened her knees around him, pushed up, and eased off his lap. She curled up beside him, hooking her legs over his knees.

"That was incredible," he told her sincerely, ignoring the way the blood was pounding through his body. 

" _You_ were incredible," she said, kissing him. "And baby, it only gets better from here."

"It does?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "The more we do it, the better it gets. How about that for a mystery of life?"

"Pretty mysterious," he said, feeling like he sounded stupid. But his brain wasn't working right; he was still lost in the thought of the heat of her.

"What can I do for you?" she murmured.

"Uh," he said. "I. Anything."

"Stay here," she said, giving him another kiss. "I'll be right back." She stood up carefully and rearranged her underwear. "That's better." 

He watched her walk into the other room. He just sat there, no shirt, dumb as a bump on a log, staring after her. His thoughts were slow, mostly hoping she'd be back soon. His whole body ached with unfulfilled desire. He wasn't about to touch himself now, though. He could barely move, he wanted her so badly. Fortunately, it didn't take her long to come back, carrying a box of tissues. She slung herself across his lap again.

"Miss me?" she asked, kissing him. 

"Yeah," he said fervently. 

"Good," she said, smirking. "Don't worry, handsome, I won't leave you hanging." She kissed him again, reaching for the fly of his trousers and carefully undoing it. "Take off your shoes."

He reached for his laces, fumbling at them while she drew her nails gently up and down his back. He kicked off his shoes and socks in a hurry and Natasha helped him drag off his pants and his underwear. He felt more vulnerable sitting naked on her couch than he had among masses of enemy soldiers in the war, but she smiled and stroked his face.

"Hey," she said. "Stay with me. This'll be good, I promise. Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I'm ready," he said. His shoulders tensed.

She laughed. "Relax, Steve. I'm not going to eat you." She glanced down his body. "Maybe next time."

He swallowed hard. She reached out and ran the tips of her fingers down his shaft. He shuddered. 

"Mm," she said, curling her fingers around him. 

"Don't we need..." he began, and stopped. "I mean, we should probably use a...a condom, right?"

She shrugged. "I've seen your medical records. I know you're clean. I'm not going to get pregnant from this - Medical's seen to that. We can if you want to, though."

"Just making sure," he said. There he went again, sounding like an idiot.

"You're sweet to ask," she said. "I'll have to reward you for that." She picked up a little bottle he hadn't even noticed and dripped some of the contents into her hand. He watched dumbly as she rubbed her palms together. Then, looking into his eyes, she reached for him. He gasped as her fingers wrapped around his cock. She stroked him from the base up and then started at the bottom again. He leaned back into the cushions, fighting the urge to just thrust against her palms. 

"Talk to me, Steve," she said. 

"It's good," he bit out. "Really good."

"Faster?" she asked. "Slower?"

"It's good," he repeated. It was better than good. It was just about the most overwhelming thing he'd ever experienced. Her touch burned through him. She kneeled next to him and kissed him and he kissed her back desperately. 

"You can touch me," she said, and he reached up to stroke her breasts. She nearly purred and arched into his hands. He thumbed her nipples with fingers that were still slightly stiff and sticky. It was all so much: her tongue in his mouth, her breasts in his hands, her hands around his cock. He was going to lose it and it hadn't been long enough, it hadn't been nearly long enough. 

"Slower," he gasped and her hands instantly stilled. She released him, going back to the slow stroke with just her fingertips, though now she worked from head to base and then caressed his balls. He took a few deep breaths, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Better?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he said. 

"You could try thinking about baseball," she suggested. "Unless you _really_ like baseball."

"Not as much as I like this," he said. He was tingling all over again, his skin tightening. "I don't think it would help much."

"You've held out a while," Natasha told him. "All night while we were dancing, when I was pressed up against you. The whole time I was on your lap. Lesser men would have had a red alert situation by now."

"Nerves," he suggested. 

"Natural prowess," she corrected. "But it's time to let go, Steve. You're in good hands. Literally."

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breath. When he opened them, she was looking at him, her face open and sweet. It was funny how gentle she could look, when he'd seen what she could do to their enemies. Here she was, offering herself to him. He'd be a fool not to accept it. 

"All right," he said. 

She leaned forward and kissed him gently. Her fingers caressed the head of his cock and he gasped and squeezed her breasts. 

"Good?" she asked.

"Good," he said. Her hand curled around him again, stroking slowly. He let his hips rise and she murmured encouragement. Her hand moved faster, little by little, until the throbbing of his pulse was in rhythm with her strokes. Pleasure shot through him like electric shock, like adrenaline, straight through his chest and down to his groin. He groaned and she leaned against him so that more of their skin was in contact. That only made it better; everywhere she touched him, sparks flew. The pleasure grew and grew until his body couldn't hold it. He gasped a warning to her, but she didn't lean back, just kept sliding her hand up and down his cock until he couldn't bear it.

"Ah!" he said, his head snapping back onto the back of the couch. His chest heaved. She laughed and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table, then tucked herself against his chest.

"Wow," he said. "That was...amazing."

"Good," she said, turning her face up for a kiss. "I'm glad."

"Sorry it didn't last too long," he said, but fortunately, he didn't have enough blood to make his cheeks red.

"You were fine," she told him. "Nobody expects you to go for hours the first time. For one thing, my hand would get tired."

"Right," he said. "I didn't think of that."

"I didn't think you could think about anything just then," she said, amusement in her voice. "It'll get easier."

He blew out a long breath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. She tipped her head to the side. "Do you want to stay over?"

"Tonight?" he asked, like an idiot.

"Yeah," she said, and smiled. "We don't have to do anything else. Scout's honor. I just thought it might be nice."

He opened his mouth to say something - he wasn't quite sure what was going to come out, but he couldn't leave her hanging like that - and yawned so widely his jaw almost cracked. "Uh. Yeah. If that's okay."

"Steve," she said seriously. "I will never offer to let you do anything that's not okay. Got it?"

"Got it," he said.

"Come on," she said, stirring. She pushed herself off the couch and offered him a hand up. "We'll clean up, we'll sleep. I'm pretty sure I have a pair of sweatpants around here somewhere that'll fit you."

"Do I want to know why?" he asked, unfolding himself with an effort. He hated being sticky. It was so undignified. But she didn't seem to mind. "You're not going to Hulk out on me in the middle of the night, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes a lady wants to lie around in enormous sweatpants she liberated from the S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment room. Don't judge."

"All right," he said. "I won't."

"Good," she said. "Ready to turn in, Rogers?"

"I am, ma'am," he said, and she took his hand and led him to the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Steve had been taking it slow, but it was time to go all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For such_heights.

Steve woke up the next morning alone in the bed. He reached over - Natasha's pillow was still a little warm, and if he listened, he could hear her in the other room. She hadn't left him, then. And she'd been there when he woke up in the middle of the night, he remembered, crashing out of some nightmare into her arms. She'd been warm and soft and reassuring, after a tense moment of dangerous alertness when he'd yelped and she'd startled awake, reaching for a weapon. She was a soldier too, he thought as he dressed himself carefully in yesterday's clothes. Or if not a soldier, then still caught up in a war. Of course she knew about the nightmares.

He went out to the kitchen and there she was, wrapped in a black robe. Somehow with no makeup on and her hair all disheveled, she looked prettier than ever. Or maybe it was the light in her eyes when she smiled like that.

"Hey there, handsome," she said.

"Hey," he said back. 

Natasha gave him a cup of coffee and a kiss, and even let him drink most of the coffee before she kicked him out. 

"Nothing personal," she assured him. 

"It's okay," he said. "It's not Saturday anymore."

"Exactly," she said with a gorgeous smile. "But it will be soon." She kissed him again before she showed him the door.

Steve pushed the button to call the elevator. It dinged open and there was Tony. He pulled down his sunglasses to stare at Steve as Steve pressed the button for his floor.

"Walk of shame?"

"Uh, not, um, exactly," Steve said.

"Good on you," Tony said. "Or good on her, probably." He slapped Steve on the shoulder in a friendly way. "You're just along for the ride, right?"

"That doesn't sound respectful," Steve said dubiously. 

"I mean, you do what she tells you to," Tony said. "She's the one in control."

"Uh," Steve said. "I'm not sure I should talk about it."

"I can see the appeal," Tony muttered. "You're too good to be true. Pity. Still, you can't go crying over missed connections, or so Pepper tells me constantly."

"I have no idea what's happening right now," Steve told him. "But I'm not sure it's what you think it is. Well, sort of. I mean, uh. It's...complicated."

"Sure, sure," Tony said amiably. "You kids just keep it down. What am I saying? This whole tower is sound-proofed. You can be as loud as the hell you want." He winked at Steve and stepped out of the elevator. 

Steve blushed every time he thought about it for the rest of the day.

\+ + + +

The week oozed by like molasses. There were no incidents they had to handle; maybe all the evil geniuses were flummoxed by the heat or just biding their time. Steve couldn't sit still. It seemed like everyone on the team had their own things to do during their downtime: Tony and Banner were in the lab for days on end, and Coulson took Natasha and Clint to do S.H.I.E.L.D. things that didn't require the Avengers. Thor had informed them all that he would be visiting Jane, and that he was only to be called back for the most crucial of emergencies. Steve was mostly on his own. Maria Hill was around some of the time, and Pepper Potts, but both of them were busy. He didn't want to bother anybody. There were only so many hours a day he could be in the gym.

So he went to volunteer. There were plenty of soup kitchens happy to have somebody who could chop vegetables all day and not get tired. He worked on housing projects. He cleaned up parks. He played baseball with kids whose schools didn't have sports. It filled up a lot of hours - New York was a needy city. He felt good giving back.

At least he was tired enough at the end of the day that he didn't spend too much time thinking about Natasha. In the evenings, he'd watch sports on tv with Tony and Bruce, if they weren't too caught up in whatever they were doing, maybe drink a beer. If they were busy, he tried to learn how to use the fancy computer they'd given him. He didn't really understand why Tony had thought he needed it, but it was a nice gift. At least he'd learned how to read his email. Thursday night he logged on and saw Natasha's name in his inbox. He clicked on it first.

"Definitely back by Saturday night," she had written. "Put on your dancing shoes. And you'd better have a plan of action for the rest of the evening, or at least some idea of what you'd like. Nat."

He sat there staring at it for a while. The words wouldn't leave his brain. A plan of action - oh, God - or some idea of what he wanted. He had _no_ idea what he wanted. The internet had been zero help there. Everything he'd seen had made him exit the window in panic, or once, just close the computer entirely. All right, he had some small idea of what he wanted, but no idea of how to accomplish it. He'd been hoping to leave all of that up to her. She obviously had a clue of what was going on and how it should happen. Meanwhile, as soon as she touched him, every careful thought he'd ever had on the subject of what they were doing went right out of his head.

He forced himself to read the rest of his email, deleting what he didn't need, and then came back to Natasha's short message. He read it again, as if he couldn't recite it by now, and then sat there, frustrated. What did he want? He wanted to kiss her, for a start. He wanted to kiss her a lot, for a long time. He wanted her to touch him again. He wanted her bare skin against his. He wanted to make her tremble against him and whisper his name. He wanted the chance he'd never gotten with Peggy to feel like they were two halves of a whole, sharing something exceptional as they shared the pleasure their bodies could create. He was smart enough to realize it wasn't always like that - otherwise people wouldn't go around taking their clothes off casually, like it didn't matter - but that was what he wanted.

Steve sighed. Natasha had been extremely sweet to him over the past few months, but that didn't mean she was going to be emotional about whatever happened between them. He didn't really think she was the kind of person who let her emotions affect much of what she did. He admired that about her - it made her a good soldier. Peggy had been that way too, to an extent. Maybe he had a type. Tough ladies with tender hearts, or at least tender hands. 

Natasha deceived people professionally; he wasn't going to imagine she was really in love with him, not the way that Peggy might have been. But he couldn't go along comparing them if he was going to go through with this, which God, he wanted to do. He wanted it desperately, body and mind both clamoring for the experience. He was still human, after all. He'd noticed the way women looked at him now, and men too. He had the chance now, whether or not he took it.

He'd never been bold like Bucky; he'd always wanted to wait for someone special to share the experience with, but Natasha was certainly special. What if he fell in love with her? He was afraid he was half in love with her already, though he'd been avoiding thinking about it. It would have been tough not to be half in love with her, after the last couple of months of holding her in his arms once a week, looking into her eyes as he guided her around the dance floor. It was dangerous, and what's more, it was embarrassing. Natasha's pity would be an awful thing to bear.

He buried his head in his hands. How did people do this? Maybe he'd missed his window of opportunity. Maybe he'd never have the courage to go through with it. Maybe he'd never make love to anybody.

Maybe Saturday somebody would try to take over the world and all of this would be moot. 

He touched himself that night, thinking of Natasha the way she'd told him to. He thought of her face when he'd stroked her body, the way her hair fell over her eyes. He thought of the little noises she'd made. He thought of the sweet ache that went through him when her skin brushed his. He imagined her fingers in place of his, firm and knowing. She'd wanted his pleasure as much as he had. They'd been good together, last Saturday. It had been easy and natural. He just had to have faith that it would be that simple again.

Still, he didn't sleep much, tired or not.

\+ + + +

Saturday night, Steve headed down the senior center just like it was any other week. Natasha greeted him like nothing had changed. Swing dancing was the theme of the night; they'd already learned the steps for East and West Coast swing, so Carl taught them lifts instead, demonstrating with a styrofoam mannequin.

"Can't hoist the live ones myself anymore," he said, "but me and Ginger here, we still got style, and she goes easier on my back." They all had a good laugh at that one. Carl winked and dipped Ginger, nearly dropping her, and then showed them what he thought Steve and Natasha ought to do. Natasha was light and lithe in his arms, utterly fearless as Steve hefted her. She laughed as he balanced her on his hip. The light in her eyes was enough to melt Steve's heart. He twirled her around, spinning her out to arm's length and back again.

"Hey," she said when he pulled her in close again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "Long week." 

She studied his face. He looked away. He could do the steps automatically now, reading the signals from her body by the pressure of her hips against his fingers. Even when he wasn't gazing into her eyes, they were still connected. Their bodies still moved in time.

"Lighten up, handsome," she whispered. "I'm not going to eat you. This is fun. Later will be fun too."

He tried to smile. Natasha gave him a look and then jumped into his arms. He caught her automatically, cradling her close to his chest, and she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. Steve relaxed at her touch, leaning his forehead against hers. A few people whistled.

"See?" she said. "Nothing to be afraid of. I promise."

"I should trust a spy?" he teased, setting her on her feet again.

"You're a _very_ different kind of mission," she assured him. "Now go dance with Miriam before she bursts."

"It can't be that extreme," Steve said, but he let Natasha go. She squeezed his fingers and sashayed across the room. Steve turned to the first in the line of little old ladies, most of whom did actually look like they were about to burst with pride and the delight of fresh gossip. At least they didn't know how to do video on their phones, Steve thought.

"You don't need to go flinging me around like your young lady," Miriam told him as he took her hand. "You two are so sweet. Young love and all. It's a precious thing when you get to be my age. Don't throw it away, if you know what's good for you. You know, I was quite the looker when I was young. Oh, the boys used to line up down the block."

"I'm sure they still do," Steve said, and Miriam cackled.

"No wonder she wants a piece of you," she said. "Oh, don't blush. It's only natural. If I were fifty years younger, I wouldn't mind the chance myself. These days I'm sure I couldn't keep up."

"Well, thank you," Steve said.

"You hold onto that girl with both hands," Miriam said. "And don't mind too hard where you put them, either. She won't be bothered." She cackled again. "The look on your face, young man! You'd think nobody had ever flirted with you before."

It went much the same with the rest of the ladies. Steve was sure that his face was as red as the circles on his shield by the time he had Natasha back in his arms. 

"Were you getting it too?" she asked. "I think the only ones who didn't want to be in your shoes wanted to be in my shoes. You big hunk."

"I didn't think this would be anybody's business but ours," he mumbled.

"Oh, Steve," she said. "You've been famous a long time. You ought to know better than that. At least we're not at the kind of place where the papparazzi hang out."

"I forget sometimes," he said. 

"Imagine it from my end," she told him. "More than once, my life has depended on my anonymity. Now..." She shrugged. "Now I just have to be resourceful."

"How'd your week go?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask. The mischief got managed. We're lucky it wasn't a disaster. Saving the world's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Tell me about it," he said. She smiled up at him and he pulled her a little closer. "You know, we could go."

"I think that would be good," she said. "Before anybody else corners you and tells you a story about their misspent youth."

"Maybe you can tell me a story about mine," he dared to tell her. 

She grinned. "I'm an excellent story teller."

They made their excuses and left. Natasha held his hand as they walked along. It was a nice night for it. Steve's hand tingled where her palm touched his. 

"You know what?" she said suddenly. "Let's get a cab." She stepped around him to the curb and hailed a cab before he could say anything. "Stark Tower," she told the cabbie as Steve folded himself in behind her. 

"Sure, sure," the cabbie said. Steve wondered how many times a day he got that. Probably a lot - there was usually a crowd as close as they could get, which wasn't as close as they would have liked. Tony's security kept all of the spectators at a healthy perimeter. They would definitely see him and Natasha, though, and draw their own conclusions. He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but that would definitely influnce people's conclusions. He settled for pressing his knee against hers. She smiled to herself and let her fingers creep up his thigh.

"Out," she said when they got to the Tower. "I'll slip around the back."

"You sure?" he asked. 

"Absolutely," she said. "It's good practice." 

Steve hesitated, reached out and squeezed her hand, and got out of the cab. He strode quickly through the crowd, waving when he had to, moving on as soon as was polite. It was uncomfortable being famous - he'd been just a kid from Brooklyn for a long time, and somehow the devotion had been different during the war - but he had to do right by Dr. Erskine and be the man his country needed him to be, which included being available, approachable, and highly visible. It was a relief to get inside, no matter what he might face upstairs.

Natasha was nowhere to be seen, so he went upstairs to the lounge and got a bottle of water out of the fridge. When he turned around, there she was. He almost choked on his water.

"Hey there, handsome," she said, lounging on the counter.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"Trade secrets," she said, hitching herself up onto the counter. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, her mouth so near his he could feel the warmth washing off her skin. She paused there, gazing at him, so near he could nearly taste her lips, until he was nearly hypnotized by the gentle rhythm of her breath, and then she kissed him. Her mouth was hot and sweet and he melted into her. The counter pressed into his stomach but he didn't care.

"Your lips are cold," she murmured.

He held up the bottle of water. 

"I'd better warm you up," she said decisively. "Any parts of you that might happen to be cold."

"Uh, there aren't any," Steve said. "Very, um, warm."

"Just in case," she said with a wink.

They kissed in the elevator going up to her floor, and outside the elevator, and outside her door. Steve could hardly see straight by the time she'd gotten her door unlocked. This time, once they were inside, she turned her back to him and lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, looking at him over her shoulder.

"A little help?" she asked.

He stepped forward and grasped the tab of her zipper, easing it down. Her underwear was black again, sleek against her smooth skin. He moved closer, breathing in the scent of her perfume. She stepped out of her dress, leaving her heels on, and turned back to him. Her arched eyebrow said everything he needed to know. He unbuttoned his shirt, fingers hardly fumbling at all. She watched him with appreciative eyes as he stripped down to his underwear. He didn't look nearly as good in his shoes as she did, so he kicked them off and left them by her door.

"So," he said. "Now what?"

"That was your job, handsome," she said. "You tell me."

He sighed. "Sorry. I'm not the kind of person who knows to ask for this kind of thing."

"Sure you are," she told him, stepping closer. "You just don't know it yet." She slung her arms around her neck, fitting her hips against his. "Your body knows what you want."

"My body's kind of dumb," he told her. "It only thinks about now. It doesn't worry about tomorrow."

"You don't have to worry about that on my account," she said. "I'll still respect you in the morning." She winked. 

"Thanks," he said wryly. 

"Sweet, sweet Steve," she whispered, cupping his face in her hand and kissing him. "Are you saving yourself for some greater purpose? Or true love, maybe?"

"I was," he said. "But life is short, and love...." He paused. _Might as well own up, Rogers._ "I guess love's not out of the realm of possibility." His stomach flipflopped like he'd just jumped out of a plane. Natasha gazed up at him, her eyes soft.

"Not completely," she told him. "Whatever's left of my heart, you can have. I'm not sure there's much."

"Sure there is," he said. "Of course you've got a heart. Otherwise you never would have taken pity on a kid from Brooklyn who didn't even know how to dance."

"And once I got you out on the dance floor, you were practically a natural," she said. "It wasn't pity - you had potential. Just like you did last week on the couch."

"Potential, huh," he said, looking down at her. "Good to know."

She stroked his back. "Look, handsome, any time you feel uncomfortable, we can stop. Despite my reputation, I'm not into forcing people into anything. Not outside of working hours."

"I'm sorry," he said. 

"Stop apologizing," she said. "Come on. Let's talk this through." She caught his hand and led him to the couch. His body certainly had memories of what had happened on that couch last week. Steve sat down awkwardly. 

"Look," she said. "I know that everybody tells you that sex is some amazing, life-changing thing, but you're going to look in the mirror tomorrow morning and you won't look any different."

"My mirror in my bathroom, you mean," he joked. "Tomorrow morning won't be Saturday. I have to turn it on and turn it off."

"Is that what's bugging you?" she asked. 

"That, and it feels life-changing from this side of things," he told her.

"Because it's one day a week, it can't be real?" Natasha shook her head. "I wasn't amusing myself with you. You're not business. You're pleasure. You're personal. I just thought it would be easier to compartmentalize. Working together and being together don't always go hand in hand."

"It works for Clint and Coulson," Steve pointed out.

Natasha snorted. "That's been in the works since the Avengers Initiative was just a gleam in Fury's eye," she said. "Plus, it's possible I shouldn't be telling you this, but they have rules about not having sex in the office. As well as that works out."

"Huh," he said. "Saturdays are your office rules."

"Yeah," she said. "Because I have been in love with someone I worked with before, sort of, and it didn't work out. There's more red in my ledger than just Clint. They took him away from me."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "That's war." She looked up at him. "I'm sure you know that well enough."

Yeah," he said softly. 

"Saturdays," she said. "Turns out you're a tough guy not to fall for, Steve Rogers. I've been working on this hard heart a while, and you waltzed right in and tried to steal it."

"Waltz was the first lesson," he murmured. "Not my fault."

She laughed quietly. "Right. Anyway. I just thought that one day a week, I could try acting like an actual human instead of a spy. Go on a date. Steal a few kisses that had nothing to do with work. I admit I was hoping for more when I said I'd give you the tour of New York, but I wasn't working you."

He leaned forward and touched her face, stroking her cheekbone gently with his thumb. If she was playing him, he didn't really care anymore. He knew well enough what it was like to never have a moment to just live. They all did. He could live with Saturdays.

"Hey," he said. "I broke the rule. I thought about you on Thursday."

"Did you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "After you sent me that email, it was all I could think about."

"And what did you think?" she murmured, edging closer. 

"I thought about how good we were together last week," he said, sliding an arm around her. "And I thought I think too much about pretty much everything."

"You do," she said. "But I like it." She trailed her fingertips down his chest. "It's cute."

"I'd really like," he said, and took a deep breath. "I'd really like to make love to you."

To her credit, she didn't burst out laughing, even though he sounded ridiculous to his own ears. "Good," she said. "Anything else?"

"There's _more_?" he said incredulously, and she did laugh at that.

"All right," she said. "We'll stick to that. Slow, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "I know it's probably slower than anyone else you've ever known."

"Part of your charm," she said, smiling at him in a way that made him feel like everything was going to work out. "Bed?"

He got up and leaned down to pick her up, cradling her to his chest the way he had on the dance floor. She looked startled for a moment and then relaxed

"Oh, Steve. What's a girl supposed to do with you?"

"I hope you know," he told her. "I'm flying blind."

She laughed as he nudged open her bedroom door with his foot. Her bed was rumpled, through the rest of the room was fairly clean. Steve was sure that there were weapons cached all over the place - he had his suspicions about the rest of the apartment, but he hadn't had the opportunity to investigate, and that would be crossing a line. He had more interesting things to do with his time tonight. He laid Natasha carefully on the bed and eased down next to her, giving her a kiss.

"Smooth, Rogers," she said approvingly, her voice husky. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd done this before."

"I've thought about it," he protested. "I think about it, same as everybody else. I definitely heard enough about what to do, during the war. I just never had the chance to use it."

"Good," she said. "Put it into practice. Kiss me."

That was an order he could follow. If one night a week was all he got, then he was going to give it his all. He leaned down, bracing himself up on one elbow, and kissed her. She cupped his face in her hands and he smoothed his palm over her shoulder and down her arm to her hip. She murmured and hooked her leg over his, pulling him closer. They stayed that way for a while, taking it slow, mouths hot and hungry, hands sliding over skin. He cupped her breasts in his hand, marveling at the fact that he was even here with her, touching her. He wanted more and more of her: the scent of her, the feel of her, the quiet happy little sounds she made. It was a good feeling, wanting her; his skin was filled up with it, until his need for her radiated off his body with the heat of his skin.

Her tongue slid insistently against his and he nudged his hips against her, making her moan quietly. She raked her fingernails lightly down his back to make him shiver and he slipped his fingers between her legs to return the favor. She was wet even through the fabric of her underwear and he couldn't resist easing his fingers underneath it. She made an impatient little noise and pushed his hand away.

"Sorry," he said.

"No," she said. "That's good. That's amazing. Just let me get these damn things off." She wriggled out of her underwear and kicked it to the foot of the bed. "There. Now."

He kissed her again and stroked her breasts and belly, working slowly back down her body until his fingers found the heat of her again. She moaned encouragement as he explored her folds, thumb circling the place that made her cry out. He pushed two fingers into her slowly and gently and her back arched. He groaned. 

"Tell me if it's too much," she whispered. 

"Too much is good," he said incoherently. He thrust his fingers into her, wanting to be deeper in her, buried in her. She pushed her face against his neck, nipping and sucking. He pushed a little harder and her arms tightened around him. 

"Oh, yes _please_ ," she breathed. "I'll take more of you any time you want."

"Ladies first," he mumbled. 

"Somebody raised you right," she said approvingly. He rubbed his thumb in faster circles, aching for the moment that she would shiver and cry out. No matter how deep or how fast he thrust with his fingers, she pushed back, molding her body to his. He whispered to her, telling her how beautiful she was. She laughed, deep in her throat, looking at him with eyes that shone. 

"Natasha," he whispered, looking at her in wonder. 

She smiled at him and gasped for air, her body shuddering in his arms. He pressed into her, savoring the way her muscles held him. Her hips jerked against his and he held as steady as he could, aching at the pressure of her body. She laughed again, moaning at the end of it, reaching for him until he kissed her.

"I didn't know it could be like that," he said. 

"Like what, handsome?" she asked, sprawled on the bed, breathing fast. 

"Joyous," he said after a moment. "A celebration."

She reached up and traced the lines of his chest. "Of course it can be."

"I just thought it would be serious," he told her. "Good, but serious."

"It depends," she said. "But I'm happy with you, so why shouldn't it be a celebration?"

"I never knew," he said.

She kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, until his pulse seemed to beat to the rhythm of her name. She stroked his side, her fingers slipping under the hem of his underwear. He gasped. She smiled and touched the top of his thigh, her fingers grazing his cock. 

"What do you think?" she asked. "Only if you want to."

"I do," he said quickly. "If you want to."

"Again," she said, "I will never offer you anything I don't want."

"That's good," he said. 

"This is our tenth date," she said. "It's been two and a half months of Saturdays. I think we've waited long enough, don't you?"

Yeah," he breathed. 

"Take those off," she said, reaching over him to her bedside table. He struggled out of his underwear as she pushed aside a gun and a couple of knives in sheaths and pulled out a box of condoms. 

"Nice stash," he said.

She smiled at him, her breasts pressed against his ribs. "A girl needs protection." She ripped one off the strip of condoms and shoved the box back in the drawer. "You want to put this on or should I?"

"Uh," he said, so she eased back onto the bed and ripped the packet open neatly. She turned the condom over in her fingers - it looked so strange - and then reached down and rolled it over his cock in a few expert movements. He stared at himself. This was actually happening. Natasha lay down beside him and kissed him.

"Hey," she said. "Don't freak out. We're going to take this just as slow as we've been going." 

He kissed her back, pulling at her bottom lip a little, trying to tell her how much he wanted her despite how nervous he was. She pressed her body against his, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra. He helped her out of it, smoothing his palms down her arms, and she tossed it over the side of the bed. He rolled onto his back and pulled her against his chest. 

"Do you want me on top?" she murmured.

"Is it good that way?" he asked.

She laughed. "Yeah," she said, looking at him fondly. "It's good a lot of ways." 

"Is it good for you?" he asked anxiously.

"Don't worry about me, handsome," she said, brushing her fingers over his cheek. He could smell latex on her hand. "I won't let you go somewhere I can't follow. We're in this together all the way."

"Good," he said. 

She reached down between them, stroking his cock with her fingertips. He made a strangled noise. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he choked out. It was almost too good already, her body lined up against his and her breasts against his chest. He touched her everywhere he could reach, learning her body by feel, noting which places made her nip at him frantically as they kissed. Her hand wrapped around his cock and she eased down his body, whispering comfort. She straddled him, up on her knees, looking straight into his eyes.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he said, hands reaching out for her hips. She guided him carefully into her, biting her lip a little, easing all the way down until her hips rested against his. He could feel how wet she was; he slid in easily, though he struggled to remember how to breathe as she took him in inch by inch. 

"Holy..." he whispered. 

She smiled at him, her face luminous. "Tell me when I can move," she said. 

"Stay right there," he said. He closed his eyes, drawing this moment in his mind. He wanted to remember it forever: the halo of her hair, the curves of her body, the light in her eyes. God, she was all around him, hot and welcoming. The heat of her went all through his veins, flooding his brain with the same brightness that was in her smile. His fingers tightened on her hips. 

"Still with me, handsome?" she murmured.

He opened his eyes. "Yeah," he said. He reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. "Right here."

"I'm going to move just a little," she said. "Tell me if it's too much." She shifted and he gasped.

"Slow," he said.

"Okay," she said. She leaned down, bracing herself with one hand by his shoulder, close enough that he could kiss her. He reached for her mouth even though it was overload; he couldn't help himself wanting all of her. His hands cupped her breasts and ran over her body and his tongue pushed against hers and she moved so _slowly_ , rising and sinking over him, and God, it was good. 

He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to lose himself in her body and her mouth. He kissed her sweetly, pushing her hair out of her face, and she smiled at him. 

"Good?" she asked.

"Fantastic," he assured her. 

"Touch me?" she asked, her eyes large and dark. Her cheeks were flushed and he wasn't sure she'd ever looked more beautiful than she did now, in bed, with him inside her. 

"Show me," he said. 

She took his hand and held it briefly to her lips and then guided it down between their bodies. It was shockingly intimate; what blood was left above his waist flooded his cheeks, but by now his hands had learned the geography of her. He reached for the right spot as her hips ground against his fingers. She moaned sweetly, her back arching in a perfect curve that pushed her breasts up and her hips down. He stroked her, fingers fumbling a little as she rose and fell over him. His other hand caressed her breasts, which were right in his line of sight. It was dizzying, the pleasure, but he never wanted it to end.

She shivered as he touched her. It felt incredible, every movement of her body telegraphed straight into his. He rubbed in quick circles, making her shake even more. She was breathing faster and faster, a controlled franticness in her movements. He pulled her down for a kiss and she kissed him hungrily, both of their mouths open and searching. His thumb skated over her nipple; his other hand stroked her, caught between their bodies but still working. Suddenly he wanted to bring her to the edge again, to feel her come while he was inside her. 

"Please," he got out and she kissed him even harder. Natasha's hips ground down against his, a little faster than before. Her knees were spread wide on either side of him now as their bodies fit together. She was shivering in waves. He could feel her muscles tensing; she was on a hair trigger, and all he had to do was move just right and hold on. He tugged gently at her lip, gasping along with her, his free hand all over her, squeezing her backside in encouragement.

She moaned loudly, almost as if she were in pain, and her whole body shook. Steve held her tightly as she buried her face in his shoulder. His hips jerked under hers; he wanted to thrust up into her, over and over, but he held still until her shaking slowed to a shiver.

"Go on," she said into his shoulder. 

He kissed the side of her head. "Hmm?" It was agony, waiting, but sweet, delicious agony.

She pushed herself up slowly, looking dazed and extremely pleased. The expression on her face would have made him hard in an instant, if he hadn't already been aching inside her. "Whatever you need."

He pulled her down for another kiss. Her lips moved lazily against his; he could feel her smile. He pushed up into her experimentally and she moaned. 

"Go on," she said. "It doesn't have to be slow. You won't hurt me."

He thrust a little harder and she grinned at him. "Just like that." He thrust again and she sat up, balancing over him, holding on tight with her knees. She picked up his hand and kissed his fingertips, taking his index finger into her mouth, and he groaned at the pressure of her mouth and thrust again. She bore down on him, rocking her hips against his.

"Come on, Steve," she whispered, kissing his palm before her tongue slid around his finger again. He gazed up at her, dazed by wanting her, caught in the grip of pleasure. Their hips moved in a perfect syncopated rhythm, just like dancing, and she was right, it had been a slow, slow seduction. It wasn't slow anymore. He groaned and she moaned in response, her body tensing again. She was tight around him, tight and hot and slick and perfect, and he couldn't hold himself together anymore. He shouted and then gasped her name, his body going stiff and then slack as he came. The room whirled around him. Natasha rocked her hips against his a few more times and moaned loudly, her muscles clutching at him. She slumped against his chest, breathing hard. He stroked her back.

They stayed that way for a few seconds and then Natasha reluctantly eased herself off him, curling up beside him instead. She stretched up to kiss him, soft and sweet and gentle. He kissed her back, running his hands over her curls. She leaned back and beamed at him. 

"That was amazing," he said sincerely. 

"It really was," she told him. "We should do it again sometime. In a couple of hours, maybe, when you wake up in the middle of the night. I can be very comforting."

"I'd like that," he said. 

"Mmm," she said. "Me too. Go clean up. Then if you're lucky, I'll let you cuddle with me. And then we'll order Chinese food. I'm starving."

He pushed himself up reluctantly. "I feel pretty lucky."

She smiled, her eyes closed. "Go."

He smiled and stumbled toward the bathroom. He dropped the condom in the trash and found a washcloth, feeling like he'd reached some adult accomplishment. Maybe other people wouldn't notice, but he felt it. The face in the mirror didn't look much different, just happier and more peaceful than he was used to. He'd taken the next step. He'd made love to a beautiful woman. They'd shared something, something he couldn't put words to, but something that was new and old and different and the same all at once. Their hearts had kept time with each other, for a while. 

He'd draw her tomorrow, in the sketchbook he still kept locked away. He'd never forget, whatever happened. In the morning he'd kiss her and go, knowing it would be Saturday again soon. Saturday, a day of concentrated bliss. The limits on their time together would make it all the sweeter.

His stomach rumbled and he laughed and went back out to her. She opened her eyes and welcomed him into the bed with open arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha finally made good on her threat to take Steve to the club.

Steve woke up twice in the night, and both times, Natasha was there, her body yielding against his. She slid her leg over his hip the first time, both of them on their sides, and he buried his face in her shoulder as she murmured comfort to him. It was perfect, sweet and quiet as a fantasy. He was too sleepy to be self-conscious; Natasha's arms around him were warm and strong and the sounds she made had nothing of pain in them. The second time, she pulled him on top of her, stroking his back as he moved against her. After that, he slept without dreaming.

In the morning she made coffee again as he sat at her counter and watched. She added a little milk to the cup and pushed it over. He took a long swallow, letting the bitterness of it scorch away any remnants of his nightmares. 

"It's good," he told her.

"I know," she said, coming around the counter. He put down his mug and she kissed him lingeringly. He leaned into her mouth, savoring the casual insistence of her kisses. Her mouth was pleasantly possessive, her lips hot from the coffee. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. 

"Mmm," she said, half in his lap. "Aren't you easy like Sunday morning?"

"I thought that was out of bounds," he said dubiously. 

"It's a song, Steve," she said, lips quirking up in a smile. "Here, I'll play it for you before you go."

"In my defense," he said, "there wasn't a lot of music under the ice. Or if there was, I couldn't hear it."

"You've got a lot of life to catch up on," she said, offering him her hand. "You slept through disco, doo-wop, folk, funk, soul, and rock and roll, to say nothing of rap and hip hop." He let her pull him off the barstool. She opened her computer and clicked through some programs as he rubbed her back gently with one hand. Music spilled out of the speakers, startlingly loud for such a small machine. Natasha arched an eyebrow at Steve and he joined her on the couch, leaning into the cushions. She put her shoulder and hip against his, not quite curled into his side. The music drifted through the apartment, warm and sweet and lazy, just right for Steve's mood.

"I like it," Steve said. 

"Looks like the education of Steve Rogers isn't quite complete," Natasha said. 

"No, but I'm a willing student," Steve said, leaning down for a kiss.

"I told you at the beginning of all of this that I'd drag you to the club one day," Natasha said. "I think it's time. Next Saturday, we're going."

"Carl will be so disappointed," Steve said.

Natasha waved her hand dismissively. "We'll go there first. Club after."

"Can we even go to a club?" Steve asked. "I thought people would take pictures."

Natasha stretched against him. "Tony owns a club and he has a private room. I know the back way in. No one will bother us."

"Okay," Steve said. "It's a date."

Natasha stretched up to kiss him. "Good. Now finish your coffee and get out of here, Rogers. It's not Saturday anymore." She softened her words with another kiss, but Steve swigged down the rest of his coffee and obeyed. Clint was in the elevator this time, looking extremely rumpled and pleased with himself.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," Steve said. 

"Rough night?" Clint asked with a grin.

"Not bad," Steve told him. 

"She likes you," Clint said. "Otherwise she wouldn't let you stay over."

"Uh," Steve said. "I'll keep that in mind." He paused. "Thanks."

"No problem," Clint told him. "Somebody has to remind her she's human. I think we all need that sometimes." 

"Probably," Steve said, and then it was his floor. "See you." The door opened and he stepped into the gap of the doorway. He could practically hear Clint's eyes dragging over him, so he stopped, one foot in the elevator and one on his floor. 

"You just gonna stand there?" Clint asked.

"I figured you had something to say about what you'd do if I hurt her," Steve said.

"Nah," Clint told him with a smile. "She'd do it herself. And she'd never let you hurt her." He takes a beat, considering Steve. "But she'd definitely have backup."

"I know," Steve told him. 

"You're good people, Rogers," Clint said. "I don't expect it to ever come to that. But if it did, it's me and Nat to the bitter end."

"I had a friend like that once," Steve said. "I understand." 

Clint nodded. "Good." 

Steve nodded back and stepped off the elevator. Breakfast, he thought. Breakfast would make the world a little less confusing.

It was another busy week. Steve listened to music in his downtime, trying to absorb some of what had happened since he'd been out of the scene, so to speak. Not that he'd ever really been in it - he wasn't the type with perfect pitch or the ability to play much of anything. Tony told him about a website that he could listen on, that would give him a range of songs, and Steve put it on in the background at the gym, or when he was relaxing in his apartment. Tony seemed to like music with a lot of very bold, clashy instrumentals. Coulson, meanwhile, gave him recommendations for jazz, some of which Steve already knew, and Bruce turned out to like folk music. Pepper gave him a cd of classical hits and a cd of country music. Natasha just smirked.

They had some business to take care of Saturday - a mad scientist accidentally blowing up his own lab in New Jersey - but still, they were back in time for Steve and Natasha to make it down to the senior center. They went separately, as always. Steve wasn't sure why, when they were starting from the same place and ending there too, but he didn't want to ask. Besides, it was nice to walk in and see her waiting, always in red and black and a smile that lit up her face.

"I thought you wouldn't come!" Agnes said breathlessly. "They had it on the news that you were out saving kittens from a fire!"

"The kittens were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Steve explained. "They weren't our primary mission. But they're all fine and they're all going to good homes."

"That's good," Agnes told him. The band started up. Steve offered his hand, but Agnes backed away. "Oh, no, not the first dance. I like to see you dance with the young lady."

Natasha smiled. "You're too sweet, Agnes."

"I was young and limber once," Agnes said wistfully.

"Well, you're not dead yet," Josef said, holding out his arm as Steve and Natasha stepped into the circle of dancers. "And you still look good to me."

They couldn't help laughing a little as they moved away.

"Promise me you'll be a suave old man like that," Natasha said.

"I can't promise I'll be half as smooth as he is," Steve said. "It seems impossible."

They danced until the band quit, just like every week, but at the end of the evening, Happy was waiting for them.

"Better than taking a cab," Natasha said. "Come on. He may look a little too much, but at least he won't take pictures."

Steve was puzzled until she started stripping out of her dress in the back of the car. He caught Happy's eye in the mirror. Happy looked away quickly. Natasha pulled out a bundle of clothes and wriggled into tight jeans and a shirt that was more nothing than it was fabric. It didn't have much of a back, just a couple of ribbons that criss-crossed over her smooth skin, but it looked good on her.

"There," she said with satisfaction, reaching for a pair of much higher heels than the ones she wore to the senior center. "Better."

"Do I need to change?" Steve asked. "I didn't bring anything."

"I don't think you'd look good in a tube top, so no," Natasha teased. "Happy. Take us to Tony's club."

"Sure," Happy said. "Back way?"

"Obviously," Natasha told him. "Is there any other?"

"Not that I know of," Happy said, taking a turn a little sharply. Steve was slowly getting used to modern New York City traffic - cars went a lot faster these days, and people seemed to have little regard for their personal safety. At least Happy knew what he was doing. Still, it took a few minutes to get there. Natasha's hand wandered over Steve's thigh. 

Happy turned abruptly down a dark alleyway that Steve wasn't sure was big enough for the car, but he and Natasha managed to get out anyway. A door handle jabbed into the small of Steve's back as he stood there, alert. He'd been in a lot of alleyways. He knew what happened in most of them. The wall behind him seemed to be vibrating gently in time to the thud of the music he could hear through the door. 

"Don't wait up," Natasha said, leaning in through the window to talk to Happy.

"Yeah, yeah, just call when you're ready," Happy grumbled.

Natasha slapped the doorframe and Happy drove off. Natasha turned and smirked at Steve. She pulled a card from somewhere - he'd thought he'd be able to tell if there was anything in her pockets, but Natasha had her own ways. She swiped the card through a scanner beside the door and it clunked open. 

"Ready?" she said, tipping her head to the side.

"Let's go," he said, swallowing. She ducked in and he followed, catching the heavy door with his hand and letting it close softly, as if it made a difference. In here, the music was so loud it reminded Steve of the war: he felt every thud of the bass in his bones, until his body shuddered with it. The noise was inescapable, even in the back hallway. Natasha caught his hand and dragged him on, into what had to be Tony's private room. It was definitely decorated Tony-style: black leather everywhere, with accents of red and gold and lots of glass. The lights were pleasantly low under colorful shades. The whole front of the room looked like windows, but after watching a few people go past without even a glance, Steve decided they were probably one-way mirrors. The crowd outside was packed together on the dance floor, raucous and sweaty and happy - so _enthusiastic_ in their dancing that Steve had to look away, glancing around Tony's room instead. The furniture was plush and the speakers were excellent. Steve could even understand most of the words despite the overpowering beat. There was a small table with a bottle of tequila on it. Next to it was a dish of lime wedges, a couple of shot glasses, and a heavy, elegant silver salt shaker. Underneath the dish of limes was a note. Natasha picked it up. 

"You kids have fun," she read. "Make sure to save me a couple of shots. Tony kiss kiss."

"Did he actually write 'kiss kiss'?" Steve asked. 

Natasha showed him the two little Xes. 

"Huh," Steve said. 

"Don't worry," Natasha said. "He just enjoys his little games. He won't actually show up. Pepper won't let him."

"I'm sure he's halfway to Hong Kong by now anyway," Steve said.

"Hope so," Natasha said. She picked up the bottle. "No point in letting it go to waste. You ever done tequila shots?"

"Not yet," Steve said. "I have the feeling I'm about to."

Natasha grinned at him and pulled the cork out of the bottle. "Here's how this goes," she told him, sloshing the liquor into the glasses. "Lick your hand between your thumb and your finger so the salt will stick." She gently took Steve's hand and demonstrated; the hot swipe of her tongue made him shiver. She sprinkled salt over the damp place where her tongue had been. "Lick the salt off, take your shot, and bite the lime." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Got it?"

"Lick, drink, bite," he said. "I think I can handle that."

"Good." She held out her hand to him. He kissed it, lapping at the crease of her thumb almost as an afterthought. Her lips parted as she watched him. He felt a little smug. He might still be mostly new to this sex thing, but at least he wasn't too slow on the uptake. Natasha salted her hand and pushed one of the shots closer to him. 

"Go," she said. They licked and drank. Steve winced at the burn as he reached for a lime. The sourness of it didn't really help, but at least it tasted good. He'd had worse. Natasha looked amused. 

"Again?"

"Why not?" he said, pushing his glass back toward her. He might not be able to get rip roaringly forget-your-worries drunk anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the way the alcohol began to trickle into his system, warming his blood as his pulse beat in time with the inescapable and utterly compelling music. This time, Natasha licked the salt from his hand and he licked hers. After that, he carefully salted the curve where her neck met her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone, the small of her back, and the soft rise of her hip, letting his tongue swirl over her skin until she was breathing heavily, her eyes wide and dark.

"I think I like tequila," he said, crouched between her knees as she sprawled in one of Tony's chairs, her fingers pushing through his hair. She laughed.

"I think it's time for some dancing," she said. 

"If you insist," he said, helping her up. Natasha grabbed his collar and dragged him down for a long slow kiss, pressing her body against his. She turned in his arms, her backside grinding against his thighs, and moved slowly against him in time with the beat of the music. He buried his face in her hair. He was half-hard already, drunk on her if not on tequila .There wasn't much to this dancing - no steps, no twirls, just passion. He got the hang of it pretty quickly, though he couldn't move anything like Natasha could. She was sinuous as she swayed away from him, her hips hypnotic. Steve just shifted from foot to foot as the music took him and watched Natasha. She was gorgeous in the half-light, her hair falling over her face, her skin smooth as the colored lights slid over her. He couldn't look away. 

Natasha eased herself against him. "Having fun?" she said, barely audible.

"Yeah," Steve said with feeling.

"Let's have some more fun," Natasha said. "Touch me."

"Here?" he asked.

"No one can see us," she said. "Tony made sure of that. And the staff sure as hell know better than to walk into Mr. Stark's private room without being called, no matter who's in here." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "We've probably got fewer eyes on us now than we ever do at my place. At least, I hope our surveillance is better than this place's." 

"Point," Steve conceded. 

"Get to it," Natasha told him, turning so that her ass was against him again. He put his hands on her hips as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair. He groaned quietly and she ground against him. He slid his fingers under the loose hem of her shirt and up her ribs until he was cupping her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra - she couldn't, really, not with the back being just ribbons - and her breasts were warm and heavy in his hands. He ran his thumbs over the slope of her chest to her nipples, caressing her just the way she liked. She moaned her approval, arching her back to push her breasts further into his hands. 

"More," she said. 

"Yes, ma'am," Steve told her. He eased one hand down her body, unbuttoning her jeans. They were tight, even after he unzipped them; he could barely slide his hand down into her underwear. But she was slick under his fingers as he gently negotiated her folds. She arched into his touch and he managed to crook his fingers inside her. The fabric of her jeans stretched tight across his wrist. He couldn't thrust much, but he could move his fingers inside her, reaching for the sweet spots, and he could press the heel of his hand against her clit. Judging by the way she went electric in his arms, that was good enough. 

Steve let the music guide him. It was inevitable. The music was all around them; he breathed it in. The music pumped his blood and moved his feet. The music was inside him and inside her. He squeezed her breast gently with his other hand, stroking her from collarbones to hips and back again as his fingers pushed as far inside her as he could manage. She turned her face up for a kiss and he met her lips with his, just as hungry for it as she was. He could barely hear her moans over the music, but he could feel the shivers that shook her body. The way her trembling body pressed against his cock felt incredible, an endless sweet friction.

He didn't feel like a natural at any of this, but he was definitely starting to enjoy it. He liked making her come, giving back the pleasure she gave to him, helping her achieve something he knew perfectly well she could do on her own. It was an honor to be on her team. It was an honor to be in her bed. She wasn't exactly vulnerable - she was more dangerous in just her skin with no weapons to hand than most heavily armed people he knew - but that didn't mean it wasn't a privilege to be naked with her. On top of that, it was more ecstasy than his body had ever experienced before, especially now with the music pulsing through him and Natasha trembling against him. 

She gasped and nipped at his mouth, her body jerking out of time with the music. She slumped back boneless against him, a dreamy look in her eyes. He started to draw his fingers out of her, but she caught his wrist, grinding hard against the heel of his hand until her body shook again, her muscles clutching around his fingers. 

"Mmm," she said, releasing him. He eased his stiff fingers slowly out of her body, grazing her clit with his fingertips and making her gasp. They were still moving thoughtlessly to the beat of the music, swaying against each other. 

"Good?" he asked.

"For now," she said. "Get on the couch. I assume you've never had a blow job."

"Uh, no," he said, palms suddenly damp.

"Good," she said. "Then I'm going to blow your mind."

"Okay," he said. His brain wasn't working very well; Natasha gently pushed him toward the couch and into the cushions. He fumbled open the button on his dress pants and she tugged them down along with his boxer-briefs. Her fingers wrapped around his cock, which stood firmly at attention, liberated from the fabric that had held it down. Natasha grinned up at him, kneeling between his legs. 

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he said, and she bent her head over him. He almost started off the couch at the wet heat of her mouth, the soft rough pressure of her tongue, the intimacy of her breath against his skin. He could swear he could feel the rhythm of the music thudding in the bones of his legs and the bones of her face, an interesting counterpoint to the movement of her lips. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock and his mind went blank. He couldn't do much more than stare at the pattern of colors the lights left as they swept across her face. He reached down and gently gathered her loose hair in his hand, holding it at the nape of her neck so that he could see her. She smiled at him and then closed her eyes, apparently enjoying herself. 

Steve wasn't sure if he was enjoying himself. Enjoying wasn't a strong enough word. He was thrilled. He was ecstatic. He was overcome, over-stimulated, almost out of his body over how _good_ it felt. He was melting in her mouth, as if his muscles and bones had dissolved into the hot rush of his blood. He realized he was groaning her name as part of a stream of affirmations, his voice almost a whisper under the overpowering music. 

His fingers rubbed the nape of her neck as her head bobbed up and down. She took him in deeper and deeper until he was gasping, helpless, pinned down by pleasure and the circle of her lips. His body tightened with a familiar rush of blood to his groin. His hips jolted involuntarily as she drew back a little and swirled her tongue over the head of his cock before taking him in deep again. He tugged gently at Natasha's hair, but she stayed where she was. He pulled a little harder, trying to warn her, but she just tightened her grip around the base of his cock and he gave up. She knew what she was doing, he guessed, trying desperately to keep from bucking into her mouth as his body surrendered to the friction of her tongue. 

His senses scattered under the onslaught of pleasure, regrouping haphazardly as his body shuddered under Natasha's. Now the lights were in his own eyes, sparkling and jittering across his field of vision. He panted in time to the music, the deep bass thud overpowering the rhythms of his body until it was all around him, a world awhirl with sound and light. It was inside him, skidding through his veins, firing with his nerves. He would have gotten up to dance if his legs would have held him. 

Natasha raised her head, licking her lips and looking satisfied. She pushed herself up and sauntered over to the tequila bottle. She poured a shot and drank it down, wincing happily. She leaned against the table, jeans still unbuttoned, looking utterly disheveled and utterly pleased with herself.

"Well?" she asked.

"I've never felt anything like it," he said, still breathing hard.

"Mission accomplished," she said. "Wanna dance?"

"Give me a minute," he said.

"Take all the time you need," she said. "I want you nice and rested before we go home." She idly buttoned up her jeans. "If you're very good and follow all my directions, I'll let you return the favor."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, rearranging his clothes. He staggered up off the couch and swept her up against him. She gave him a fierce, lingering kiss and then took a step back. She looked him up and down, smiling to herself, and let her feet tap out the beat in her strappy heels. The song coming through the speakers had changed again, but the beat was still the same somehow, infectious, overwhelming. Sexy. Unstoppable. He found he was nodding along.

"Now dance," she told him.

Steve let the music take him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha declared it Naked-All-Day Day.

It was 11:58 on a Friday night and Steve was just easing into bed when the door to his apartment swung open. He rolled out off the mattress, scrabbling for the rifle he'd kept next to his bed during the war, but it wasn't there. He advanced to the living room, cautious, keeping to the corners until he saw the light gleaming off a familiar tumble of red hair. Natasha was picking up his few mementos, examining them with detached curiosity. Steve relaxed and stepped into the room.

"I let myself in," Natasha said. "You really need better security, Cap."

"I don't have a lot of guests coming by," Steve said. "Normally."

"Well, I'm not unwelcome," Natasha said, stripping off her shirt. "Just guessing."

"Uh, no," Steve said, gazing at the smooth pale expanse of her skin. It never got old, watching her take her clothes off. The hard lines of her muscles flexed under her skin, a pretty reminder that even bare-ass naked, Natasha was a weapon, a force to be reckoned with. Fortunately, his reckoning with her was generally enjoyable, even if it left bruises now and again.

"Don't think I'm not happy to see you," he said when she was down to her underwear (still black, not lace, but sexy as hell), "but, uh, it's Friday."

"No, it's not," she said. "It's after midnight." She nodded toward his clock; as he watched, the minute hand slid over to 12:03.

"It's not that I'm not happy to see you," he started.

She looked at his groin and smirked significantly as she unhooked her bra. "Clearly."

"I just don't usually see you until later in the day," he said, struggling to keep the words in the right order as they came out his mouth, as his brain was melting rapidly as she kicked her underwear halfway across his living room.

"Look, Rogers," she teased, "if you're trying to get me out of your apartment, just say so."

"I'm trying to play by the rules," he told her, sliding his arms around her. She was strong in his embrace, all silk and steel as she pressed up against him.

"New rule," she said, tipping her head back to look at him. "Take off those pants. Today is naked day. No clothes allowed." She glanced down. "Not that they're hiding anything at the moment."

"No," he agreed. 

She looked into his eyes and hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of his sweatpants. Her green gaze was intense; electricity crackled through him, holding him in place. His feet stayed planted on the floor as she casually shoved his pants down, still staring into his eyes, his arms still steady around her. She lifted one foot when her arms wouldn't reach anymore and used her toes to drag the nubbly fabric down his legs. He shivered and finally stepped out of the pants. 

" _Much_ better," Natasha said. She came up on her toes to kiss him, her movements extremely casual but the touch of her mouth a hot shock, pleasure splintering through him. He felt the jagged rush of adrenaline hit, as exhilarating as a battle but much more fun. He was already planning as her tongue slid demandingly against his. Seducing Natasha, when she put him in charge of where their evenings were going, took nearly as much strategy as storming one of Red Skull's hideouts. She wouldn't have settled for anything less. He enjoyed the challenge, now that he had some idea of what he was doing.

He scooped her up in his arms, still kissing her, and carried her to his bedroom. She curled up smug and willing against his chest, scraping her nails lightly over his chest. He laid her gently on the bed, propping himself up over her and bending to kiss her. She pulled a pillow under her head and hitched her shoulders up onto it. It gave her enough leverage to kiss him back fiercely, her hands sliding up around his head and her fingernails prickling against his scalp. He shivered and lowered himself down against her, the length of his body against hers. She slung her leg over his thigh and he stroked her leg from ankle to hip, over and over as he kissed her, the movement half-hypnotizing both of them until their kisses slowed.

"Good hands, Rogers," she said, a little breathless.

"They're about to get even better," he said, easing his hand between them. His fingers slipped between her folds and she caught her breath. Steve paused a moment, biting his lip against how _good_ it felt just to be near her, to have his fingertips brushing the wet heat of her. She nipped at his lip, her teeth sharp and urgent. 

"Stay here," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "Stay with me."

"I'm here," he promised. 

"You can't get lost," she said fiercely. "You've got a mission."

"Best assignment I ever heard," he mumbled against her lips, sliding his thumb against her clit. She rocked her hips against his hand, making eager, demanding little noises. He eased his fingers into her, pleasure hitting him like a shockwave at the hot pressure of her muscles around him. God, it was so good every time. She kissed him like she was issuing commands and he took every one of them. He pushed his fingers into her, a little faster every time she moaned. Her hands slid to his shoulders and her nails dug in as she gasped, her body jerking as her muscles clenched around his fingers.

"That was fast," he said, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I thought about this all week," she told him. 

"Glad to hear it," he told her. He slid his fingers out of her, wiping them on the sheet, and then nudged her onto her back as he eased his way down her body. He kissed her throat, the dip between her breasts, the arch of her ribcage and the slight hollow of her belly, and settled between her legs. "Good?"

"Amazing," she said, leaning back on the pillows. "Maybe the best idea you've ever had."

He considered trying to come up with a witty retort, but it seemed more prudent and a hell of a lot more enjoyable to bury his face between her thighs and let his tongue do the work. She had a response to every one of his comebacks, but she couldn't put words to this. Her back arched as he flicked her clit with his tongue, changing to long, slow strokes. She knotted her fingers in the sheet and moaned loudly. 

Steve smiled, half his face wet already. He pushed his face harder against her. He couldn't get enough of her - the tangy salt savor of her, the texture of her skin, the way she came alive under his touch. He knew every minute where he stood with Natasha. It was refreshing, to be around someone who could make her wishes so clear with so little effort. She still reminded him of Peggy sometimes, but he wasn't going to think about that now. He was right where he wanted to be, Natasha's knees trembling on his shoulders.

He coaxed her along with tongue and fingers to three orgasms in quick succession, until her moans got that shrill edge of painful overstimulation. She tugged at his hair and he reluctantly moved, drying his face on the sheets. She pulled him against her and parted her legs just far enough for his cock to slide between her slick thighs. He wasn't inside her, but God, it was good enough. He tried to move slowly, lazily, but after a few minutes desire spurred him hard and Natasha slung her arms around him as he moved in the hot embrace of her thighs. 

"It's going to be sticky," he mumbled, collapsing next to her.

"So we'll wash the sheets," she said dismissively. "Plenty of time on Naked Day."

"What about breakfast?" he asked. "Can't cook naked. Hot grease, bare skin - bad combination."

"You know the café does room service, right?" Natasha asked. "We'll order in."

"Oh," Steve said. "Good."

"Go the fuck to sleep," Natasha said affectionately. 

"Yes, ma'am," Steve told her, obedient as ever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The further adventures of Naked Day.

In the morning the doorbell woke them: room service arriving promptly. Natasha nipped out to get it without a stitch on while Steve admired her courage and her ass. The café's breakfast was excellent - pancakes just like Steve's favorite diner had made - and the view was even better. He and Natasha ate in the living room, sitting on the couch, as near the big windows as Steve was willing to get. You never knew who might drop by. Literally. Clint had a habit of rappelling down the building, and Tony liked to take his prototypes for a spin around the tower, since he'd been reprimanded by the city for breaking flight regulations. Tony's argument was that he wasn't a low-flying vehicle, just a high-rolling one, was not well-accepted by the mayor's office. Steve had thought it was funny. Tony was definitely his father's son.

Natasha dipped the last of her bacon in a puddle of maple syrup and then licked her fingers. She stretched, her back arching until it crackled. Steve let his eyes linger on the curves of her breasts and the play of the muscles under them. Natasha smirked at him.

"Not so bad to wake up to, huh?" she asked.

"Not bad at all," Steve told her. He topped up his coffee. "Can't think of any way I'd rather wake up, come to think of it."

"Flatterer," Natasha said.

"Just honest," Steve said. "Unless it's going to get me somewhere."

Natasha leaned forward. "Not a lot else to do on a naked day," she reminded him. She dragged her finger across the syrup on her plate and held it up. The syrup hung in a golden drop above her chest for a moment and then fell. "Oops."

It was a blatantly obvious ploy, but Steve couldn't help grinning. He'd never really imagined that this could be fun. He'd thought it would be enjoyable, sure, but intense and stressful and serious all the time. He'd never imagined Natasha smearing syrup over her tits as she looked at him with a mischievous challenge in her eye.

Good thing he was adaptable.

He reached out and pulled her closer, his mouth descending over her nipple without preamble. Her skin was salty from the sweat of their encounter and sweet from the bacon-laced syrup. She moaned quietly as his tongue swept across her and he licked harder. He loved every sound she made; each moan made him harder, and he sucked harder at her skin. She arched in his arms, pushing her breast further into his mouth. He nuzzled roughly at her chest and she dug her nails into his back, pulling him against her as she fell backwards.

"Here?" he panted. 

"Right now," she said, her voice husky and urgent.

"But," he said, gesturing at the windows.

"I thought you knew how to put on a show, soldier," she said. "Do you need to put on the boots? I can wait."

"What if...?" he started.

"So what," she said fiercely. "I've wasted enough of my life on what if. So have you. I think we've both earned the right to do what we damn well please. There's no way the stupid whim of Tony Stark is going to take that from me." 

Steve kissed her as he thought about it. She put as much passion into that as she did into her argument. Kissing her was a little bit like picking up one of Tony's experimental weapons - you never knew quite what was going to happen, but one way or the other it was going to have a hell of a kick. He stroked her back, her ass, her hips, every inch of her hot and smooth and naked as the day she was born. He was starting to like this naked thing. It made it so easy to roll her onto her side and pull her leg over his thigh as her hands guided him in.

"About goddamn time," she said, exhaling slowly as her body accustomed itself to him.

"I would have wanted to you to waste that syrup trick," he said. "I'm sure it was painful to pull something that clichéd."

She smirked. "At least it wasn't whipped cream. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Not exactly what I was aiming for, but it worked."

"I guess it did," he said, rocking his hips slowly. She arched against him, smiling.

"As long as I get what I want, I don't give a damn what it takes to get there," she told him, her smile now mostly teeth. 

"It's a very attractive quality," he said, moving in her again. She tugged at him and he rolled half on top of her, pressing her down into the plush cushions of the couch. 

"Mmm," she said. "Good morning to you."

"I have to say you're making it a very good morning," he said back. 

"It takes two," she said. "At least for this particular act." She stretched out one leg and wrapped it over his hips, digging in her heel. She kicked him just a little and he jolted into her, startled. She laughed and kissed him lingeringly as he got himself under control.

"That's about enough of that," he said.

"How are you going to stop me?" she challenged, winking at him.

He pulled out of her with a wince of regret and quickly turned her over. She lifted her hips in the air as he reached for a cushion to slide under her.

"I like it when you get bossy," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. Her hair tumbled over her face

"Good," he told her. "I'm about to get even bossier. Let me know if it's not what you want."

"If it's not what I want, you'll know," she promised him. "I'll try to keep your recovery time to under a week."

"So generous," he teased. 

"I get what I want," she said. "And I don't put up with what I don't want. So why don't you go ahead and oblige me already."

"Whatever you say, ma'am," he told her. He splayed his fingers over the small of her back and guided himself closer with the other hand. She reached back and helped him. She was deliciously wet; he slid in hard, almost falling on top of her as he tried to brace himself against the yielding cushions. She gasped and smiled a wicked smile. 

"That's more like it," she said.

"Yeah?" he panted, still finding a way to keep himself in the right position on the cushions. Usually he enjoyed the overstuffed couch, but now it was too soft and the leather too slippery under his increasingly sweaty skin. The position was more awkward than he'd expected, but he liked the view. God, she was gorgeous. He pushed into her, finally lined up right, losing himself in the slick heat of her body. He didn't really understand how it could be this good every single time, like they were reinventing the act every Saturday, rediscovering some vital truth of the universe: together, they were more. 

Natasha grinned up at him through her hair. Her ass was round and firm in front of him. Every time he thrust against her, she gasped and smiled. Every noise sent a sharp pang of pleasure through him, sweet and hot as pecan pie at Christmas, so sweet his bones ached with it. She reached back, stroking herself as he rocked against her, and he nearly lost it at the deeply-satisfied moan that escaped from her. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on holding her against him, sliding into her again and again. 

"God, yes," she said, writhing a little. He kept up as steady a rhythm as he could, though her movements pushed him off-balance. He steadied himself with the hand on her lower back, pressing her gently into the cushions, and she moaned. 

"Come on," he gasped encouragingly. She rocked back hard against him, taking him in deeper. He slipped a bit and recovered, smacking her ass gently with one hand as he thrust into her again. She laughed, sounding surprised, but the laugh turned into an even more surprised gasping moan as her body shuddered around his. She flung one hand back and he caught it in his, holding her steady as she rode out her orgasm. 

"Ahhhh," he groaned. It was too much: the sudden tightness of her, the heat of their bodies, the vivid flush that hit her cheeks, the dreamy way her eyes fluttered shut as her fingers clutched at his. Every part of him yearned for her. He pressed her into the cushions with the force of his longing. She just spread her legs and held steady, inviting him in deeper. He pushed desperately into her and she hummed, urging him on. It seemed to take forever and no time at all until he was coming, losing himself utterly, clinging to her like she was his anchor to the world. He collapsed onto the couch, breathing hard, and pulled her against him. They lay that way for a long few minutes catching their breath. He kissed the nape of her neck under her curls.

"I don't mind it when you give me orders," she said. "Up to a point, obviously."

"Huh," he said. "I didn't think that would work on you."

"It's my job to keep you guessing," she said. "I can't blow my cover as an emotionless superspy whose only joy in life is the pain of others."

"I'll never reveal your secrets," he said, nuzzling at her. "Who knows what people like Loki would do if they knew you had a thing for big band jazz and room service." 

"Exactly," she said. "Totally ruined."

"You're safe with me," he said. "Except from the occasional command, I guess."

"Within reason," she murmured, and turned to kiss him.

"Obviously," he said. "My next order is to get us into the bathtub, because we probably reek."

She smiled at him. "How perfectly reasonable of you."

"I aim to please," he said. He sat up and pushed himself off the couch, then leaned down and scooped her up. She let him carry her to the bathroom. He set her down in front of the little separate room that held the toilet. "Ladies first."

She glared at him playfully but went in. He busied himself with the tub, turning on the hot and cold water and balancing the flow, throwing in some bath salts that he'd gotten somewhere. He was more grateful than ever to Stark, who'd had a lot of foresight when he'd equipped every apartment with a big Jacuzzi tub. There was nothing a superhero wanted more after saving the world than to soak the ache away in a hot bath full of jets. This was going to be a lot more entertaining, though. 

Steve sloshed his hands through the water, trying to get the bath salts to dissolve. It didn't look particularly romantic: the water was a little bit green. He dug in the cabinets, looking for something else to add, and came up with a little ball in a plastic bag. Pepper had told him to buy it, when they'd been out on some errand in the city and she'd taken him to a shop full of bath and beauty products he'd never even imagined needed to exist. He opened the bag. At least it smelled good. He dropped the ball in the tub; it immediately started fizzing and bubbling. Froth covered the water and the whole bathroom smelled like oranges and spices. He took a deep breath. Better. Natasha came out after a moment and washed her hands.

"Pepper drag you to that store?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"Yep," he said.

"Good," Natasha said. "Next time, pick up a massage bar too."

"Will do," he said, kissing her before he took his turn for the toilet. She was in the tub when he came out, sitting in bubbles that only half covered her. The steam turned her curls even curlier. He washed and dried his hands. 

"What are you waiting for?" she asked. He smiled and climbed in next to her. The water sloshed up around them, foamy and fragrant and reddish. Bubbles prickled against his skin as they popped. He eased down, his skin tingling at the heat of the water. It was warm enough that he was sweating a little, which probably defeated the purpose a little, but he was planning to spend a nice long time in the tub. The water would cool off eventually. He pulled Natasha between his legs as he leaned against the side of the tub. She slid easily through the water. Thick foam crackled as she settled against him. Her shoulders fit perfectly against his chest; her head lolled back on his shoulder, and he leaned down to kiss her.

"Not a bad way to spend a Saturday," she murmured, sliding her hand over his thigh as the water splashed. 

"Not at all," he agreed. He stroked her stomach from the heavy curve of her breasts to the crease of her thighs. She hummed with pleasure, wriggling against him. He raised his hands and watched the steam wisp off them. Natasha made an impatient noise and he dropped his hands to her breasts. They fit so perfectly together, he thought, thumbing her nipples until she sounded happy again. She arched her back, pushing her breasts into his hands. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, sucking gently at her salty skin. She tightened her grip on his thighs, digging her nails in lightly. 

The water rose around them as he lost himself in touching her. Her skin was so sleek under his hands; the feel of it half-hypnotized him. She turned her head to kiss him. He was melting in the heat of the water and the heat of her mouth. Her body slid easily against his, and the contrast of warm skin and cool bubbles made him shiver. Natasha raised one foot and turned off the water. Her foot slid smoothly across the front of the tub and she turned on the jets. The tub rumbled and then water began to pound against Steve's back. He leaned into the flow. Natasha smiled.

"There are times I think about how many things in my life are there because of Tony Stark," she said. "It makes me completely furious." She stretched and flipped over, looping her arms around Steve's neck. "Right now, though, I can't complain."

"Please don't bring Stark up when we're naked," Steve told her. 

Natasha smirked. "Will it interfere with other things coming up?"

"Other things need a little more time anyway," he said, kissing her and cupping her breasts in his hands again. 

"So glad I don't have that problem," she said. She angled her body until the flow from the jets bounced off her skin. He could feel the eddying in the tub. The jets churned the water and the layer of bubbles got thicker and thicker, until he could blow holes in the foam over his chest. Natasha laughed and repositioned herself again, sinking down over his thigh. It was interesting, being able to feel her moving but not able to see her through the bubbles. She floated a little in the water, slipping away from him, laughing all the while. He laughed too. 

"Goddammit," she said, tossing her damp hair back. "I just want to get laid. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Are you talking to the tub?" he asked. "Because if you're talking to me, I think I can come up with some answers." He let one hand slip from her breast to her ribs, half-covered by bubbles, and down the curve of her side to her hip. His fingers found her folds, caressing her under the water. Her lips parted.

"It would be handy if I could move some of these jets around," Steve said.

"Quite the innovator, aren't you?" Natasha said, dipping down for a kiss. 

"I think on my feet," Steve said. 

"I like you off them," she told him. 

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, stroking her. She pressed down against him, slipping against the bottom of the tub. He braced his thigh against her knee and kissed her hard. His fingers teased her, nearly pressing in and then sliding back again until she made a little groan of frustration.

"I can't believe I ever thought you'd be shy," she murmured.

"Sorry to disappoint," he said, blushing a little. Not that she could tell, since he was already flushed from the heat of the water. "I'm sure I'm not quite up to modern standards yet."

"You're better," she said, smiling down at him. "You listen."

He didn't have much to say to that, so he kissed her instead. His fingers worked under the water. Natasha bit her lip and moaned. He thumbed her nipple and then let both hands slip to her hips, holding her down against his thigh. He pushed his foot against the corner of the tub, bending his knee and catching her on his thigh. She rocked at the sudden pressure of him, her body swaying, but she put her hands on his shoulders and kept her balance. 

"Good?" he asked.

"Excellent," she reassured him, shifting back and forth on the muscle of his thigh. He tensed his leg under her and watched her expression shift from surprised to pleased and then more pleased. Water sloshed around her as she moved. Froth clung to her, building on her breasts and on her back as more bubbles caught on the coat that covered her skin. Steve was definitely sweating now, half from the bath and half from the sight of her. The scent of oranges and cloves rose around them. Natasha tipped her head back, exposing the pretty line of her throat. Steve blew on the bubbles that covered her breasts; her skin was too soapy to use his lips, but he could at least use his breath. She shivered, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

"You're gorgeous," he said, the words spilling out of him. 

"Likewise," she told him with an appreciative once-over. There wasn't much to see above the foam, but it was flattering anyway. The appreciation in her eyes was genuine. She ground down against him and groaned. He could feel his body slowly recovering, responding to her. He wasn't ready yet, but that almost made it better: he could glory in her glory that way, focused completely on her pleasure.

He reached down again to find her folds. His fingers knew her now, knew exactly how she liked to be touched. He timed his strokes by her gasps, adjusted his position by the way her body moved. She rode his thigh. Her hips swayed and jerked as his fingers caressed her. He could feel the tension building in her body; an answering echo of pleasure spiraled slowly up from the base of his spine, increased by the jet that still massaged his back.

Bubbles crackled as she rocked against him. The tang of sex and sweat mingled with the scent of the water. Natasha moaned like she was calling out and everything in him wanted to answer her. She ducked her head and he surged up to kiss her, splashing water over both of them. Her mouth was insistent; she nipped at him, her tongue pushing hard against his. He stroked her faster, rubbing tight little circles. Hot water sloshed over his chest and splashed between their bodies. She panted into his mouth. 

"Ahh," she said, a rising note in her voice. He could feel her leg muscles like steel on either side of his. Her back arched, and he let go of her hip to drag a hand down her front as his fingers kept making tiny circles.

"You're there," he said encouragingly. 

"You're...right," she said and moaned and almost fell over. He caught her in the circle of his arm, dropping his knee and pulling her against him. His thumb still caressed her, guiding her through the spasm of pleasure. He could feel her muscles pulsing under her skin.

"Fuck me," she said, collapsing half against him and half against the side of the tub. 

"I'm pretty sure I just did," he said.

"Hah," she said. "Just going to let you know now that there's no prize for post-coital humor." She laid her head against his shoulder. Her chest heaved under its coating of foam. He cupped the hand that had been between her legs and poured water over her breasts, watching the bubbles melt away. His fingers were pruny. 

"This is prize enough for me," he said. 

"So funny," she said, but she put her hand on his chest. Her hot fingers splayed over the thud of his heart and he smiled.

They stayed in the tub until the water was nearly tepid, building foam castles and destroying them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No-Clothes Saturday continued, with the surprise addition of clothes.

The water had cooled too much for comfort and they were both wrinkled and pale. Steve stood up and offered Natasha his hand, helping her out of the tall tub. They toweled each other off until the blood was flowing into their limbs again. They staggered out of the bathroom together and fell into the bed on top of the comforter. Steve woke up with his arm around Natasha. Her face was tucked against his chest. Her eyes opened as soon as he moved.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"I'm fucking _starving_ ," she said, rolling onto her back, and his stomach rumbled loudly in response. "Get dressed."

"I thought this was no-clothes day," he said, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Come on, Cap," she said with a wry smile, climbing out of bed. "It's Saturday. Can't disappoint Muriel."

"Where does food come into this?" he asked, following her lead. "I haven't noticed much in the way of refreshments at the senior center."

"Have a little faith in me," she told him. "I know a place or two in this city where we can grab a meal without grabbing a lot of attention." She reached up and slung her arm around his neck, giving him a kiss that had plenty of edge and made him want to heft her back into the bed. "See you downstairs in fifteen."

"Roger," Steve said. He saw her out and then went back to his bedroom to dress. It was too hot for a full suit, so he put on slacks and a white shirt and knocked the dust off his shoes. He combed his hair, glancing in the mirror. He had plenty of confidence in Natasha, but he'd seen that face too often in the papers lately. He didn't want his life turned into a spectacle any more than it had to be. He liked his smart phone fine, but he missed the days when he'd had to go looking for the news and pose for photos. He missed the way things had taken time and thought. Hardly any of the articles about him seemed to have been thought through.

He looked at his reflection one last time and then caught the elevator. Natasha was there in, as always, a red and black dress. It was one of his favorites, sleek but flirty. 

"I had Tony call a car for us," she said. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he said. His stomach growled again. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"Haven't I taken care of you so far?" she asked.

He paused. "I was trying for a joke there," he said at last. "Sorry."

"Well, the faster you get in that car, the sooner you get to eat," she said. "So I guess the joke's on you."

He was out the door and in the car almost before she could finish her sentence, but so was she. She leaned forward and gave an address to the front seat. Steve leaned back against the plush leather seat and then sat up again.

"Uh, who's driving?"

"Jarvis," Natasha said calmly. "Better than any cabbie I've ever ridden with."

"Okay," Steve said. "But Jarvis isn't here."

"I'm present anywhere Mister Stark has technology," Jarvis said through the speakers. "Please sit back and enjoy the ride, Captain Rogers."

"Sorry," Steve mumbled. "Not trying to offend. But I'm just getting used to robots with bodies. I'm not good at the...cloud."

"Few can claim to be good at the cloud," Jarvis said reassuringly. "I assure you that you are in good hands, metaphorically speaking."

"Plus, Jarvis doesn't care if we make out in the back seat," Natasha said. "Right, J?"

"Indeed," Jarvis said. 

Natasha clambered onto his lap and Steve found that he suddenly had no further questions or concerns.

\+ + + +

The Jarvis-car took them to a hole in the wall. They slipped out of the car and into the restaurant without anybody even glancing at them. 

"Two specials," Natasha said to the guy at the counter, which turned out to be pretty much the best hamburger Steve had ever had, with a basket of hot, perfect, greasy fries. The counter guy seemed to recognize them, but not to care much. He grunted a little and gave them each a free milkshake.

"I'm not going to be very light on my feet tonight," Steve said, halfway through his burger.

"They're not very spry either, in case you haven't noticed," Natasha pointed out. "Besides, the super-metabolism should take care of it."

"I had a pretty good workout today too," Steve said. 

"There is that," Natasha agreed, looking smug. "Eat up, soldier. You'll need your strength this evening."

There was nothing he could say to that, at least not in public. The couple of people working here didn't seem to care about them, but Steve was pretty sure that Natasha could start a scandal just as easy as snapping her fingers. He really didn't want that to be the next big story; what they had wasn't tawdry, but he was sure the tabloids could make it look that way. He went back to his food. Steve was polishing off the last of his fries and half-seriously considering another burger when the grunter behind the counter brought them fried pies.

"Apple," was all he said, slouching away again. 

"Too bad," Natasha said. "I prefer cherry. But it suits you, doesn't it, Rogers?"

"What, you mean American as?" Steve asked. "I guess." He bit into a pie. "Mmm-ahhh."

"Burn yourself?" Natasha said, taking the much safer tactic of breaking off a piece of hers before she put it in her mouth. 

"Yeah," Steve said. He gazed at her. "Worth every minute of the pain." He winked. 

"Smartass," she said.

He shrugged. "Got to get my licks in, don't I?"

"Better ways to do it," she said, and ran her foot up his leg under the table. 

"I'd love it if you'd give me some pointers," he said, "but we're going to be late if we don't get going."

She sighed. "Spoilsport."

"This was your idea," he reminded her.

"Yeah, well," she said. "I didn't expect it to catch on quite so well. Now if we don't go, we're going to be the kids they never wanted. We never call, we never write."

"I might have been one of them," Steve reminded her. "You would have been the highlight of my week."

"There but for the grace of science," Natasha said. "And I am the highlight of your week. Let's go cut a rug."

They finished their pies and Steve slurped up the last few drops of his milkshake. The Jarvis-car was waiting outside, purring and sleek. They ducked in and nobody even glanced at them. 

"Moist towelette, sir?" Jarvis offered. A compartment opened, revealing a variety of toiletries. Steve took a towelette and wiped the salt and grease from his fingers. Natasha took one too, looking at him under her eyelashes as she cleaned her hands. The Jarvis-car opened another compartment with a tiny trash can. Natasha dropped her used towelette in and grabbed Steve's shirtfront.

This time, her lips tasted of cinnamon. Steve pulled her close and she leaned back, tugging him down against her. Even after spending all day with her, in her arms, he couldn't get enough of her. He steadied himself against the seat, sliding his other hand up under her skirt accidentally-on-purpose, and she put her hand over his, guiding his fingers. She was deliciously wet and he couldn't resist pushing into her. She hummed with pleasure, which turned into half a gasp when he grazed her clit, and he pressed hard against her, wanting to melt into her, wanting to strip all her clothes off and worship her body. 

"Slow down," she said between kisses.

"Sorry," Steve said.

"Not you," she said. "Jarvis! Slow down."

"Yes, Ms Romanoff," the Jarvis-car said, decelerating smoothly. 

\+ + + + 

Natasha's hair was tousled when they got out of the car. She smoothed her curls and brushed down her skirt. Steve tossed his second towelette into the trash and followed her. 

"I'll text you," Natasha said to the car. Steve just shook his head and closed the door.

He was glad they'd made the effort. Everyone was always so glad to see them. It made him happy and sad at the same time, but he pushed that aside and concentrated on chauffeuring the ladies (and the occasional gentleman, though they mostly just wanted to talk) around the floor. He only danced two songs with Natasha, which was just as well. He couldn't look at her without the familiar rush of blood to inconvenient places. At the end of the evening, they made their excuses after all the usual promises to drop by for soup or to see about petitioning Tony to make this or that improvement to the city, as if he could. Natasha finally texted the Jarvis-car and got them out of the senior center by telling everyone their ride was there.

"I love them," Steve said as they slid into the car, "but there are nights I just don't want to linger."

"Not there, anyway," Natasha agreed. 

"No," Steve said. "Uh, other places, though, I could see myself lingering."

"Blow job if you can keep your hands off me until we get back to the tower," Natasha challenged.

"I'm not usually a gambler," Steve said. "But you're on."

"Lies," she said. "You took a gamble on the serum. You took gambles every mission you ran. I read your file."

"That's different," he told her. "That's work. And it sounded good."

"It did," she said. "You know what sounds better?"

"Making me lose the bet?" he suggested. 

"Just how low do you think I go, Rogers?" she smirked, leaning back and putting her feet up on the console between the front seats. She'd kicked off her shoes and her skirt slid slowly higher up her thighs.

"Low enough?" he said hopefully.

"And then some," she said suggestively. "I feel like I owe you one after this morning. I think I'd start by just stroking your cock with my fingertips, though, just almost not touching you at all. A nice little prelude."

"You forget I'm from a generation that knows all about self-denial," he said, trying not to listen, but unable to stop. 

"Then I guess it wouldn't take long before you were about to come," she said, gazing at him. "Since you're so used to getting by on so little. You'd be hanging on my every touch, aching for me to bring you off. I'd go slowly. You'd probably beg a little bit. _Please, Natasha. Please touch me._ "

"You think so?" he asked. His mouth was dry. He licked his lips, but it didn't help.

She shot him an amused, pitying glance. "I'd probably slow down even more while I thought about whether I wanted to make you come with my fingers or whether I wanted to use my mouth and take you as deep as you could go."

"That's, uh, a real dilemma," Steve said, shifting in the seat. "What would you decide?"

"It would depend on my mood," Natasha told him. "And how nicely you asked, of course. I like to see the desperation in a man's eyes."

"Seeing any now?" he asked.

"Not enough," she said. 

"Wait a few minutes," Steve said.

"I'm not sure I can," Natasha said in a breathy voice, leaning forward and pushing her breasts together.

Steve cleared his throat. "Jarvis? A little faster, buddy?"

The engine purred in response.

\+ + + + 

Steve won his bet, but just barely. He couldn't even wait to claim his prize. He and Natasha nearly tumbled out of the elevator, hands all over each other. He unlocked his door with one hand and yanked at her underwear with the other as she frantically unbuckled his belt. He kicked out of his trousers and his shoes, and Natasha knelt briefly in front of him, dropping a hot, tongue-flickering kiss on his cock as she pulled off his boxer-briefs. He hefted her in his arms and pressed her back against the wall, her skirt shoved up around her hips. She wrapped her legs around his hips and reached down, guiding him in. Steve groaned at the feel of her all around him. Natasha groaned too, digging her nails into the back of his neck. 

"I'll have to owe you one later," Natasha gasped. 

"This is good," Steve said, panting. 

"Oh, god yes," Natasha told him, rocking her hips against his. "Very good. But even harder would be very better."

"Yes, ma'am," he breathed, thrusting deeper, more purposefully, making her nearly yelp. He was afraid she'd scuff her shoulders against the wall, bruise or even bleed, but she just urged him on, and he trusted her to know her own body.

"More," she said, and he gave her all he had, bucking into her in a kind of frenzy. Her heels dug into his thighs as her body strained against his. She kissed him frantically, holding his face with her hands, biting at his lips. And then she was holding him with all the incredible strength of her arms, her face buried in his neck, her teeth leaving marks that would be hard to cover. He pushed her firmly into the wall, holding her steady as her body began to shake. 

He tried to think of anything else but the heat of her and the sweetness of her and the iron grasp of her limbs around him, but he was going to come the second she came and he knew it. There was no baseball game interesting enough to pull his mind from the demanding immediacy of Natasha, no distraction that could prolong the experience. He freed one hand and reached for her clit. Natasha moaned, a high-pitched sharp noise that kept going as he thrust and stroked and thrust and stroked and pressed her into the wall. And then she was coming, her body shuddering in his arms, her moans almost like sobs. He came too as her muscles clenched around him. 

She buried her face in his neck and said nothing as he eased out of her. He started to set her on her feet, but then changed his mind and swung her up into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom - fortunately, somebody had made the bed while they were out, clean sheets and all. Steve made a mental note to leave the cleaning staff a nice tip as he laid Natasha down on the bed. 

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Never." 

He looked around. "Kind of ironic, isn't it? No-clothes day and we make love mostly-dressed."

"Deliciously ironic," she agreed. "But we might as well go back to naked now." She reached for the zipper of her dress.

"Let me," he said, and she turned without a word, lifting her hair from the back of her neck. He unzipped the dress tenderly, easing it off her shoulders, helping her out of it as gently as he could. There were red marks on her shoulder blades, but she didn't seem to notice them. He took the dress from her and carefully unhooked her bra, kissing her shoulder as she shrugged out of it. She watched him over her shoulder as he laid her clothes on a chair.

"You're too good for this world, Steve Rogers," she said.

He ducked his head. "I appreciate your faith," he said. "It's a big world, though, and I'm not nearly the best thing in it."

"We'll see," Natasha said. 

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Tired," she said. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Her lips curled up in a smile that held every memory they'd made that day: a joyful, secretive, wicked expression.

"A good long day," he said, taking off his shirt and throwing it into the laundry. "But I'm ready for bed if you are."

She laughed. "No double meaning for once."

He shrugged, feeling the weight of his weariness all at once. "You might still wake up in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be the first time you ambushed me."

"You make it sound so unwelcome," she complained, slipping under the covers. 

"Never," he said softly, crawling in beside her. "Never ever."

"Thank you," he thought he heard her say, but he was too drowsy to process it.

He fell asleep with her hair tickling his nose, her compact body snug against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ym4yum1 for helping me figure out where this story is going, and to everyone who's still reading for waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets through another week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope it's worth the wait.  
> Timeline: Not-AOU or Winter Soldier compliant.  
> Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Steve woke up when Nat kissed him. He was asleep, dreaming fitfully, when when he felt the drowsy warmth of her lips on his. He kissed her back, tightening his arms around her. Her mouth was so hot and soft and heavenly he wasn't sure was awake, the way he'd dreamed of the impossible delights of feather beds on his army cot. She cupped her hand around his face, her other hand pressed against his chest. She didn't kiss him like she was pouring herself into him the way she usually did. He could tell that she was holding back, keeping some figurative distance between them. That usually meant she was planning something. Kissing her like this was blissful agony, like the moment before orgasm; he yearned for her even as he held her. Breathless minutes went by. He held his body still against hers, respecting the boundary she had set, which only doubled the ache in his heart and in his groin. God, he wanted her, so much that he gasped and trembled with the effort of not moving against her, not plunging into her as she cradled him in her arms.

"Nat," he started to say.

"Shhh," she told him. She fitted her hips against his and slid her toes up his calf, easing her knee over his hip, opening herself to him. He reached down and guided himself into her, moving slowly. She was still kissing him as if they were being pulled apart. He followed her lead, shifting with her to some easy rhythm only she could hear, gentle and sweet. Their bodies danced an exquisitely slow tango, so perfectly paced that Steve was only half-certain he was awake. It all felt dreamy, a little out of focus, like a portrait that had been smudged or a photograph that came out blurry. He couldn't hold the details in his mind. Natasha trembled against him, arching her back in the circle of his arms, and came with a little gasp. He followed her, burying his face in her hair. 

They lay together, breathing in time. Steve kissed Natasha's forehead, dazed and dozing. As he fell asleep, he thought he felt her slip out of bed. He stretched carefully around the space she would occupy, leaving a space for her.

She was gone in the morning. Steve wasn't surprised. After spending an entire Saturday together, Sunday morning was a hard line. He hadn't thought she would linger for coffee and kisses this morning. There was a comfort in their boundaries. Just like it had been with Peggy, they got the job done before they took any time for themselves. Six days a week, he saved the world, and on the seventh day, he rested in her arms. 

He touched the pillow, but the sheets were cool. She'd been gone a while, then. He got up dragged on some clothes and found his phone and headed downstairs for a run. It was early still, the city just waking up around him, only the insomniacs and the business owners up. He ran until he was hungry and not craving Natasha, about eight miles by his phone, and then jogged back. He showered Natasha's touch off his body in the bathroom that still smelled like oranges and spices. He got dressed. He made coffee for one and eggs and bacon for one supersoldier. He read the news - the usual parade of disasters, but nothing that seemed like it was going to be cause to suit up, at least not that afternoon. 

There wasn't anything in the paper the next day either. Steve went to the gym and sparred with Maria. He tidied up his place. He volunteered for a while cleaning up city parks. He watched a couple of the movies on his list. He drew, just a little bit, and recognized the profile of the face his pencil sketched.

The next day was the same. He let Tony teach him about technology. Tony always wanted to improve the shield, but Steve wouldn't let him touch it. 

"I could do wonderful things," Tony said, eyeing the shield as he stalked around the equipment room.

"The shield stays like it is," Steve said firmly. "You'll throw the balance off."

"I do unbalance things, don't I?" Tony quipped, opening his files with a wave of his hand. "Back to work on the newest suit, then. How detailed do you want your breastplate? Because I hear it's the superhero thing to have visible nipples."

"No thanks," said Steve. "And no jokes about being cold, please."

"Captain No-Fun," Tony said absently, absorbed in schematics.

"That's me," Steve agreed, and left him to it. 

Wednesday there was a robbery. Steve handled it by himself. Thursday Hydra wanna-bes almost managed to set a city block on fire trying to renovate an old warehouse so they could build a facility worthy of their would-be masters. Friday he started to wonder where Natasha was: he hadn't seen her all week. But Friday was also the day that some madwoman with a surprisingly functional freeze ray decided to make icicles out of the people in Central Park, and the Avengers went out to stop her. She was easy to handle in the end; her freeze ray only slightly gummed up the joints of Tony's suit, and a lot of things wore off fast on Steve and Thor. Hawkeye knocked her down with one of his fancy arrows, and the police took her to jail.

"No Natasha?" Steve asked casually, as he stood next to Clint with reporters clamoring around them.

Clint shrugged. "Said she had something to do."

Steve nodded and smiled gently for the camera. 

Saturday he took a long run, hit the gym, did some paperwork, listened to one of the albums on his list, and showered carefully. After a week without so much as a glimpse of her, he was more than willing to admit to Natasha that he'd missed her. They kept the romance confined to barracks, maybe, but she was part of his team. The Avengers didn't function the same without her. He was always looking for her over his shoulder, listening for her in his ear. He knew she wasn't the type for big sweeping declarations, but he could at least tell her he missed her in a fight.

The train seemed slower than normal, although he got there at the same time as always. Natasha was nowhere in sight, which was strange, because she usually beat him there. Carl was talking to the band. 

"And the young lady?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"She makes her own schedule," Steve told him.

"An independent woman," Carl said. "That's the modern world for you."

"They were plenty independent before," Steve reminded him.

The band struck up a tune, and Steve turned toward the door like he was in a movie, but Natasha wasn't there. He tapped his toes through the first song, waiting. She wasn't there for the second or the third song either. Agnes and Josef box-stepped their way over to him as Carl showed him a cha cha variation. 

"No young lady today?" Josef asked.

"She'll be here," Steve told him. "She must have gotten caught up in something. But it was her idea."

"She's a smart girl," Agnes said. She glanced at Josef. "Would you like to dance, young man?"

"I'm flattered," Steve told her, and escorted her demurely around the floor. He danced with Miriam. He danced with Ellie and Muriel and Katherine and the rest of the ladies. He danced with Josef once, and let Josef lead. After all, it had always helped to understand both sides of a fight. A dance couldn't be much different. He danced until the band put up their instruments and the senior center staff came in to move the chairs back onto the floor for the morning's activities. 

Natasha didn't come.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: not AOU or Winter Soldier-compliant  
> A/N: See, it got better.  
> Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Monday morning, first thing, Steve went looking for Fury, or really, he went looking for Hill, which led him to Fury. Fury was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window of the conference room.

"Where's Romanov?" Steve asked without preamble.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers," Fury said. "I assume this is a professional interest."

"Cut the crap, Fury," Steve said, crossing his arms. "She's part of my team."

"So I hear," Fury said mildly. 

"I'd be asking either way," Steve told him. "I don't like it when my people disappear." He felt a pang, sharp and swift, remembering Bucky. 

"Can't tell you," Fury said.

"Can't or won't?" Steve asked, his jaw tightening.

"Both," Fury said easily. "I'm sure if Agent Romanovthought it was necessary for you to know, you'd know."

"So you're sending members of my team on side missions without backup or a Plan B?" Steve demanded. 

"Agent Romanov can handle herself," Fury said, eyeing Steve. "She's come back from every mission."

"So far," Steve said. "There's a last time for everything."

Fury tilted his head, but it seemed more like a shrug than an acknowledgement. "Agent Romanov is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Cap. She's part of your team, but she's also part of mine. I won't apologize for using the best person for a mission. Nobody here signed up for the job security." 

"I don't like it," Steve told him.

"You don't have to," Fury said. "All due respect, Captain, you're not in charge of this organization. These aren't the Howling Commandos, and we're not bivouacking on the front lines. I don't make these decisions in committee. I have to take the long view."

Steve gritted his teeth. "How long should I expect to be down one Avenger?"

"No idea," Fury said, looking back out the window. "Until the work is finished. Romanov isn't the type to check in every five minutes, even if she weren't in deep cover. You'll know when you know."

"Good talk," Steve said, turning to walk out the door.

"Cap," Fury called after him. "She'll be back. I don't lose my assets. She's weathered worse without a scratch."

"It only takes once," Steve said, without turning around. He took the stairs down to the gym, enjoying the impact of the concrete on his feet. He picked up his shield on the way and sprinted into the shielded practice room. Thor was there, idly bashing his way through a squadron of Tony's training bots. He took one look at Steve and changed his stance, inviting Steve to take point. Steve hurled the shield. Thor swung his hammer. They moved together in a strange dance, trying new things: Thor hitting the shield as Steve jammed it into a robot, Steve directing the force of Thor's blows to shiver another bot to pieces. When they were done and Tony's bots were picking themselves and the pieces of the other bots up and staggering to the repair facility, Thor nodded to him.

"You are upset, Captain Rogers. What has happened? Shall we avenge the wrong that has been done?"

"Nothing," Steve said, stretching his shoulders. "Just wanted to work off a little steam."

"Does this have something to do with Agent Romanov?" Thor asked. "Her absence is strange."

"Not according to Fury," Steve said. He inspected his shield, but it was as whole and undamaged as ever. 

"I hope that she returns soon," Thor said. "It is best to go into battle with all of one's fellow warriors at one's side."

"I hope so too," Steve said. Thor clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Courage, my friend. We will all be joined again in battle soon."

"Thanks," Steve said, busying himself with the laces of his shoes. Thor strolled off. Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, sighed, and stood up, hanging his shield on the wall. He knew it wasn't sensible to worry about her. He knew she'd been through hell and back, striding out of the flames with her head held high. He trusted absolutely in her ability to take care of herself. But he hated being blindsided. She hadn't been on a solo mission since the Avengers had been founded. None of them had, really, except for Thor's occasional trips back to Asgard.

He had every confidence in her. But he'd thought she'd be there, waiting for their dance.

The days blurred into each other without Natasha around. He spent a lot of time at the gym, when he wasn't defusing minor crises with what was left of the team. When he touched himself, he thought of her. His bathroom still gave off an occasional whiff of oranges and spice, which made his heart thud. He still woke up Sunday mornings reaching for her. His eight miles on Sunday mornings turned into fifteen, and then twenty-five, but he couldn't outrun wanting her. Steve kept their date, heading to the senior center every Saturday night. After two more weeks without her, Miriam and Agnes were starting to look at him with something like pity.

"Something go wrong with your young lady?" Josef asked gruffly as they sipped water during a break. 

"She's working," Steve told him. "Out of town."

"Seems like a hell of a long job," Josef said.

"Sometimes they are," Steve said, and they left it at that. He listened to anecdotes about children and grandchildren. He talked to the band members about their favorite songs. He escorted just about everyone in the room around the floor, including the men - everyone had a story to tell him. He could tell they were trying to distract him, and he was grateful for it. It was frustrating to wear his heart on his sleeve, though he guessed he'd always done it. He was weary of last goodbyes that looked like everyday regular farewells until suddenly they weren't. There were things he would have told her. He was tired of lost last chances.

He made his way home in moody silence. Clint was there when he walked through the doors, leaning against one of the walls in the lobby. 

"Hey," Clint said.

"If you're here to invite me to dinner," Steve said, "tell Coulson sorry, it's not his cooking."

"Nah," Clint said. "You can come if you want, but I'm supposed to tell you she's fine and not to worry about her."

Steve blinked. "Fury said she wouldn't be checking in. Why's this coming through you? Why didn't she contact me directly? There's no shortage of technology around."

"I'm not exactly thrilled to be playing switchboard operator," Clint said dryly. "But Nat and I, we've got our drops outside of normal channels. We've been doing this together a while. She's gonna talk to me before she talks to Fury."

"And before she talks to me," Steve muttered. 

Clint studied him. "Hey, Cap, no hard feelings. It's just work."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I'm not good with people dropping off the face of the earth for some reason."

"She probably thought it would be easier this way," Clint said. 

"I don't mind the mission coming first," Steve told him. "It should come first. We're here to work. But it would have been nice to find out from her."

Clint shrugged. "Tell her yourself when you see her. Like I said, I'm not the switchboard." He pushed off the wall. "Want to come to dinner?"

"What are you having?"

Clint squinted. "Moussaka."

"What's that?" Steve asked.

"No idea," Clint said. "I'm from Iowa. The fanciest thing we've got it loose meat sandwiches. Smelled good, though."

Steve hesitated. "I'll be up in a little while. Thanks."

Clint nodded. "I'll open an extra bottle of wine."

Steve waited until the elevator doors had closed and sat down on one of the couches in the lobby. He pressed his face into his hands. She was all right. She would come home. Those were the things that mattered. Everything else could wait.

\+ + + + 

It had been a month of Saturdays. Steve was going through the motions. He could hear Agnes and Josef whispering behind him as he handed Miriam off into one of the chairs at the edge of the dance floor. 

"I made you some more knish," Miriam told him, picking up a bag from under her chair. "Are you sure you're eating enough?"

"I will be now," Steve said, bending to take the bag. "Thank you."

As he straightened up, he heard Agnes trail off. The hair at the nape of his neck prickled. He took a deep breath and turned around. There was Natasha, looking just like she always did, in a red dress with black and white roses. He could see her breath quicken as their eyes met. A tentative little smile curved her lips.

"I'll just hold those," Miriam said, gently taking the bag back from his unresisting fingers. 

Steve strode across the room. Natasha stood her ground, hands clasped in front of her. Her knuckles looked a little bruised, but she seemed to be all there.

"Agent Romanov," he said, only stopping when they were almost toe to toe. 

"Captain Rogers," she said.

"You're a little late," he told her. 

She lifted one shoulder. "Work sucked," she said with a smirk. "For some reason, my boss wouldn't take 'I have a date' for an answer."

He opened his arms and swept her up and she melted into him, stretching up on tiptoe to find his lips with hers. Steve sighed against the warmth of her mouth, the last month's tension melting out of him. She was here. She was whole. She felt achingly, perfectly familiar in his arms. And her mouth, God, he could live in the space between her lips. He held her firmly and felt her arms tighten around him. There was no distance between them now. She gave herself freely to him, let him feel every tremble and hitch in her breathing. He kissed her until every last drop of loneliness was wrung out of him, bitter water turned to wine by her touch. They drank each other in until they were both gasping, overwhelmed. She turned her face away and pressed her lips to his jaw, catching her breath. 

"I love you," he whispered against her cheek.

"It's pretty mutual," she whispered back, and kissed him again, hungrily, her tongue brushing against his. He kissed her back, savoring the crackle of electricity through him. After weeks without her, it was almost too much. He moved his thumb over the nape of her neck, stroking slowly. Natasha hummed in pleasure and broke the kiss reluctantly, her lips lingering near his. Steve became dimly aware of a noise, rhythmic and familiar.

Everyone in the room was applauding.

Natasha laughed quietly. "Well, we put on a show."

"Follow my lead," he said. "I've got plenty of experience giving the people what they want."

He supported her as she slid down his body and stepped back, missing her already. He took a little bow and Natasha curtsied to the crowd of seniors, some of whom were sniffling. Agnes beamed and held Josef's hand. 

"Maestro?" Steve said to the bandleader. "Play something slow."

"You got it, Cap," the man said and turned to his musicians. "You know what to do, boys. A-one, two, three."

The strains of "We'll Meet Again" swelled to fill the room. Steve chuckled and turned to Natasha. "May I have this dance, ma'am?"

She smiled and put her hand in his. "I think I've been waiting all my life for you to ask, Captain."


End file.
